Dear Friends,

For one last time, I’m sitting here looking at a blank screen, wondering what to write for the Church magazine…

As you know, Janet and I are moving on from Otley after 22 years. Our last Sunday is 21st November. Otley has been a great place to live and bring up our children, Mark and Tim. Tim was just 6 months old when we arrived as many of you will remember.

And now we’re heading off to our house near Northwich in Cheshire and not at all sure what will come next. A hint of what may happen is elsewhere in this magazine.

Again and again in life we have to move on – leaving behind the familiar and embracing a new context. Letting go and trusting God. Sometimes we choose the transition, but often we have no choice. It starts when we’re born and only finishes when we die – the final moving on in this age at least.

I’m still surprised when I tell people how long we’ve been here. It was never my plan to stay so long! To be honest, there have been ups and downs, and sometimes when I’ve been very keen to move on (Janet has rarely shared that feeling!). But there have always been people who made it a joy to stay.

So what have I left to say?

Firstly, “Thank you”. We are so thankful to you all. When Janet and I first looked at Otley Parish with a view to coming here, the Rural Dean, Peter Sutcliffe, said that people at the Church simply needed to be loved. And he gave us a great view of the parish in more than one way, as we looked together at Otley town from the top of the Chevin.

We accepted that calling to love the people of Otley, but what we didn’t know is how much love Otley had to give, and how much we would receive.

Secondly, “Love one another”. In a time when we’re all a bit confused as to where society and the world is heading, and are rightly very concerned about many issues, the starting point is what it’s always been – growing a loving community with Christ at the heart. Don’t be overly concerned with what you must do. Be patient and plumb the rich depths of the Gospel.

To paraphrase St Paul: In so far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Be gentle with one another, kind and compassionate, forgiving each other as God in Christ has forgiven you.

Thirdly, “Let your love embrace all” in the astounding welcome you give as you reach out in love to all whom God lays on your hearts – in Otley and far beyond. And especially those whom we think of as different, or difficult to love. God’s grace is enough. There’s a place for everyone, with Christ at the centre.

Fourthly, “Be honest”. God can meet us anywhere, even in our self-delusion, but mostly, I think, he meets us when we’re honest. He speaks through us, and moves most powerfully, when we are honest about our faith, not when we mask our failings, or our doubts or our true feelings. Remember that the word hypocrite comes from a Greek word describing an actor who wears a mask. A hypocrite is someone speaking from behind a mask, pretending to be someone else.

Fifthly, “You’ve got what it takes in spade loads .” Don’t wish for a new vicar too soon! Have a good look around and see the talent in your midst. The months ahead can be good and creative months for the whole church. As we so often remind ourselves, the Church is the people not the building. Not a vicar plus some pews. And you’re so talented, so loving, so good-looking…

Finally: “Be a World Church”

• • Here to serve the world because God so loved the world that he sent his Son and still sends us in the power of his Spirit
  • Part of a world-wide community with every person from every nation equally loved and cherished by God
  • Promoting care for the world, God’s creation

God bless you and keep you! Do come and visit us in Northwich.

With much love,

Graham

 

 

Dear Friends,

I like to do crosswords. Usually the quick or simple versions from the Guardian or the i newspaper. I rarely get very far with cryptic crosswords.

Normally I answer a few clues quickly – but the grid remains depressingly full of empty squares. I’ve read every clue, but the mind feels dull and no more answers come to me. Then there’s a second phase as I revisit each clue and ‘get my brain in gear’. And each answered clue then gives letters to help with other ones. And so I grapple my way to the final few.

Mostly I get them in the end. Sometimes going painstakingly through the alphabet letter by letter. Or getting help from Janet or Tim. Sometimes I grumpily resort to Google for specialist knowledge. I mean how can anyone be expected to know the answer for ‘An Eskimo boat’ (Umiak)? Or Madagascar’s currency (the Ariary)?

And I enjoy this?!! Well yes, mostly. Like a physical workout (unless it’s running after a ball which I could do for ever) it’s the satisfaction of having done it that keeps me going – or the shame of not completing it!

I try to do a crossword most days to keep the little grey cells working. The process is enlightening. Some answers come easily to us in life. Others need a bit more work and there are always things we need help with.

But I think I see something else at work. It’s this ‘getting the brain in gear’ bit. It’s the sort of momentum that is gradually achieved after a slow start.

Watching a goose take off recently from Fewston reservoir, the goose started by flapping its wings without making much forward progress. Then it ran on the water for a country mile and just when we thought it might give up and not take off at all, it rose into the air and soared gracefully above the bridge it had looked in danger of crashing into!!

I often find it’s the getting going that stops me getting going, if you know what I mean. If it doesn’t come easily, it’s easier not to do anything. Have you ever sat around (physically or on Zoom) in a small group and had a discussion? Like in our Lent Groups? It can be hard to start a discussion as the question hangs awkwardly in the air. Then we make the jump into ‘brain-engaged’ space, usually by someone saying something interesting or stirring, and we get up and running. Sometimes even flying. I hope there’s something in this that mirrors your own spiritual momentum through this past year.

There’s a real momentum now as we come out of ‘lockdown’, with the vaccines in particular enabling the roadmap out of the current grave restrictions. But it’s a momentum that needs constant nudging towards positive change, not a return to old ways that have been found wanting.

There has been extraordinary momentum that has allowed and caused drastic change in so many areas of life, not least in the general acceptance of previously unimaginable restrictions on private and public life. And in our appreciation for the NHS, carers, teachers and so on.

And there’s huge momentum in the readiness to address key questions: How do we …. look after the most vulnerable, … treasure the world we live in … recognise how interdependent we all are on this small planet, … think again about who and what we most value … face our own prejudices … address the massive inequality at home and internationally and so on.

So many issues require urgent action now, we can be overwhelmed into inertia – doing nothing. Whereas we simply need to do what we can, building on and generating further momentum. You never can tell whether something will fly or crash until you try!

Never have so many people of good will on our planet been so united in knowing what needs to be done. God is surely speaking loud and clear to all who will listen. But it is costly, requiring sacrifice. And the forces ranged in opposition are many and powerful, turning up in every quarter, not least in our own hearts.

And so each of us grapples with what we are called to do, and how we are called to live, as part of God’s missional loving of the world. God’s model for bringing in his kingdom is sacrificial love.

And what of Otley Parish Church? Where do you see the momentum in the Church and in Otley Parish Church in particular? As we emerge from this phase of the pandemic, what have we learned? What are we being asked to do differently? What do we need to hold on to and what do we need to let go of? Do discuss these questions and share widely. I’d love to hear your conclusions.

It’s been a very difficult time, but a time of great opportunity is coming for which we need to be ready.

I wish you a very blessed Lent, and joy in the journey.

Graham

Dear Friends,

The French town of St Malo in Brittany is a place we have passed through several times but we’ve never stopped to have a good look around. Whether arriving in France by ferry on our way to a French campsite, or heading back home, we always seemed to be in a rush to move on.

I was made aware of this when I recently read All the Light we Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. St Malo is central to the story of this wonderful book and the author clearly fell in love with the city when he visited it:

“I felt as though I was walking through an imaginary city, a place that was part fairy-tale fortress, part MC Esher drawing, part mist and ocean wind and lamplight.”

And yet as he writes about the city I find I can conjure up visual memories of the old city walls (which were rebuilt after huge destruction in the war) and the ocean – or perhaps it’s just that he evokes them powerfully by his description.

The title of the book reflects the author’s focus on radio waves which he thinks of as ‘the light we cannot see’. He says we take for granted the “strangeness and sorcery” of hearing a voice from far away on our phones, and wants to remind of what an extraordinary thing that is. In the story he takes us back to 1934-1944, when radio broadcasting was in its prime and it is radio broadcasting which draws together the two main characters, a blind French girl and a German boy, in the context of the Second World War.

When Janet and I were in Sudan in the 1980s, radios were a lifeline. Mobile phones were almost unheard of. The connections now possible, even to South Sudan, are mind-boggling as we communicate via billions of radio waves we cannot see which are forwarded from radio mast to radio mast around the world.

Imagine if we could see the radio waves. Imagine looking at the earth from space with every radio wave lit up. A world wide web… How connected we are.

The coronavirus pandemic has highlighted just how connected we all are. How dependent on one another. And the invisible forces that bind us together are not just radio waves. More importantly we are connected by our shared humanity, transcending all boundaries.

As a parent looks at their children and see one family, so God looks at all of his children from every race and nation, sharing his image, hard-wired to connect with each other and with him. And he longs for us to see the light we cannot see – the Light of the World who binds us together through his Spirit into one renewed humanity.

The book is about the threads of goodness, the waves of goodness, that continue to exist in the darkest of times and even in the darkest of hearts. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never put it out.

I am disappointed with myself that I’ve never stopped and had a good look around St Malo. I’m determined to make the most of my next opportunity! But there are so many places I will have passed through without really looking or noticing. I suppose it’s inevitable.

As we travel through life, every day we have countless opportunities to pause and look around. Opportunities to stop and see. To notice. Doubtless we miss many or most of them. Other people can help us see what we miss. Help us look differently. Help us value something we took for granted.

But we can also return to past times and places with a mixture of imagination and memory. I guess that happens more and more as we grow older, though the memories obviously do begin to fade! And even at that distance we can see beauty and truth and gain new perspective on past events but also on our current way of life as we look back and see how different things now are.

Perhaps the biggest lesson we learn from St Malo, is the extraordinary resilience and ability of people to rebuild their lives, and their city, after the trauma and destruction of the Second World War. And when you factor God into that, it gives us hope in every situation.

With love,

Graham

Dear Friends,

The psalms are known as the prayer book of the bible. I love the psalms to dip into, or to study. In them we find such a range of human emotion. I love their honesty. Their place in the bible indicates that we too can say anything to God. They express hurt, hope, joy, wonder, depression, anger, thanksgiving, complaint and much more!

Some of the sentiments are extreme, even expressing prejudice and hatred. To my mind they are there precisely to let us know that you can say anything to God. But we do have to use them wisely and carefully. We read them in a very different time and culture from their original setting.

Being honest, I often skip through, or skip over, the daily psalms. Not because they don’t have something to say, but because they often take such time and effort to engage with, to unravel.  And, to be blunt, I often struggle with how ethnocentric they are. (Ethnocentric = evaluating other cultures according to preconceptions originating in the standards and customs of one’s own culture)

The two psalms set for this morning (as I write) are Psalm 88 and Psalm 95.

Psalm 88 is the most continuous unremitting complaint to God in all the psalms. Abandoned and hated by his/her friends, the psalmist feels not only rejected by God but attacked by him without cause, he/she is trapped, imprisoned and God is ignoring his/her persistent calls for help.

Your wrath sweeps over me;

Your horrors are come to destroy me;

All day long they come about me like water;

They close me in on every side.

To some extent, all of the psalms of lament contain some glimmers of hope but not this one. Except…

Psalm 88 is talking to God – as if he is really there. Talking straight. Telling it to him how it is. I see in that more than a glimmer of light. We can to pour out our heart to God for our own situation, or for victims of war, prejudice and suffering of every type. We can blame God when that’s how we see it..

Psalm 88 could be a circular prayer – start at verse one through to verse twenty and back to the beginning again. A prayer on endless repeat – until something changes. Bleak, yes. But behind this prayer is an absolute belief that God can change things, perhaps a belief that God will change things. The flame of hope will never be snuffed out. It’s very different from turning your back on God.

The second set psalm is 95. You’ll be more familiar with this one.  It opens with:

O come, let us sing to the Lord;

Let us heartily rejoice in the rock of our salvation.

Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving

And be glad in him with psalms.

For the Lord is  a great God…

This psalm is known as the Venite (Latin for the opening words “O Come”). I regularly find the challenge to “come into his presence with thanksgiving” helpful but demanding. Sometimes I have to work hard to remember all the things for which I am thankful and begin to FEEL thankful. Sometimes I need to confess my wrong attitudes and behaviour before I can feel free to offer up thanksgiving. But usually it’s do-able!!

So how does one move from the bleak complaint of Psalm 88 to the thanksgiving of Psalm 95?

The normal way is not to linger too long! We can experience some identification with the pain of Psalm 88, and then are reminded by Psalm 95 that we have much to be thankful for. Joys and sorrows are two sides of the one coin of life.

But it is rewarding to linger longer too. Psalm 95 calls us to worship, thanksgiving and praise but then comes the awesome challenge to hear God’s word or face the very exclusion from God’s presence which is at the heart of Psalm 88.

O that today you would listen to his voice:

Harden not your hearts…

Whichever way around you read them, they interpret each other. Psalm 95 reminds us to be thankful, and to listen to God’s voice. Psalm 88 reminds us to be honest and to hear God’s word through a suffering person. Both seem to me to be important today.

With my love and prayers,

Graham

Dear Friends,

Do you enjoy ‘Call the Midwife’? Each episode begins with a voiceover by Vanessa Redgrave during which words appear on the screen with the question:

Why did I ever start this?

The words come from Jennifer Worth’s memoirs which were the inspiration for the drama, and which provide much of its early material. The drama brings to life the impoverished East End of London in the 1950s and 1960s. It is told through the experience of midwives based at Nonnatus House, home to an order of Anglican nuns. As if you didn’t know!

Jennifer Worth’s words “Why did I ever start this?” come as she thinks of so many other careers that she could have chosen – clearly feeling that many of them, maybe all of them, would have been a lot easier!

I sometimes find myself asking the same question in the middle of a sermon, or even writing a magazine letter… I imagine the liturgical response:

Why did I ever start this?
Amen! Why did you ever start this?

So why did I ever start this letter?

Jenny Worth is acknowledging that her life as a midwife was grim, demanding and often traumatic but also rewarding and full of joy. She finds “the quiet thrill of the safe delivery of a healthy baby … intoxicating”. Her service illustrates what it is to ‘die to self’. The result is a grim-filled and a joy-filled life. For me that is an illustration of the abundant life to which Jesus calls us.

The TV series not only draws back the veil on some horrific conditions, but also gives hope because we know change for the better does come. And that can give us hope in joining the struggle to address many injustices that still face us at home and internationally.

It’s important to know that even heroic works of service have times of questioning and doubts – wondering if what we’re doing makes a difference, or enough of a difference, to justify the cost to us and our loved ones.

The only good answer to the question “why did I ever start this?” must be ‘because it’s worth it’. (Unless it’s not – which must always be considered!)

I guess I also just think that midwives are special people today, in history and across the world. And in the Bible.

• I think of the Hebrew midwives in Exodus 1. They refused to obey the orders of the Pharaoh, and continued working with the (Israelite) refugee community, a people suffering appalling prejudice and facing annihilation.
• I think of the children of Israel escaping from captivity in Egypt, through the Red Sea (Sea of Reeds). It’s like the waters breaking and out of suffering a new nation is born – it stumbles out into the wilderness, blinded by light, crying for food and drink, finding that with freedom comes great challenge and often wishing it were back in the safety of captivity in the womb of Egypt.
• I think of Jesus telling Nicodemus that we must be born again – of the Spirit.
• I think of the groaning of creation that Paul writes of in Romans 8 – groaning like a mother in childbirth. Groaning in hope. The new creation waiting and yearning to be born out of the old.
• Most of all, I think of Jesus, who died giving birth to the new creation. We are his body and are here to continue his work in the power of the Spirit.

We, representing Christ, are not just called to proclaim the coming kingdom, but to be midwives of the kingdom – using our God-given resources to bring to birth a new reality of life and love which is eternal. Grounded in the everyday grime and joys of life, we become intoxicated by glimpses of the kingdom here and now, motivated to bring life and love into the world despite the cost.

Over the next few years, the many and varied battles against the authorities and powers of this dark world will be shaped by the Covid pandemic. And we will often ask: “Why did I ever start this?” Words from the Communion Service may assist:

Lord of all life, help us to work together for that day when your kingdom comes and justice and mercy will be seen in all the earth.

With love,

Graham

Dear Friends,

I use a simple form of morning prayer most days and since Easter this has been a daily opening response:

In your resurrection, O Christ
Let heaven and earth rejoice. Alleluia!

I don’t know about you, but I have found that I need reminding about the significance of Jesus’ resurrection. Not so much its importance for me personally, but that it is an event of central importance to the whole of creation.

It’s what’s at the heart of Lesslie Newbigin’s book, ‘The Gospel as Public Truth’. Somehow, our society has managed to manoeuvre almost all religious belief into the personal sphere and out of the public sphere. So nobody is particularly bothered when Jesus’ teaching, and his birth, death and resurrection, are personally important to Christians. But it’s a different matter when it gets ‘out there’ in the public sphere.

The opening sentence in my devotions reminds me that Jesus’ resurrection is an event of unprecedented importance for everyone, and so it becomes a wonderful and simple prayer for our mission as a Church.

I spend a lot of time choosing songs for our Sunday services. I try to pick songs that are right for not only the theme, but for that particular moment in the service as best I can plan and imagine it. And a mix of new and older songs/hymns.

One song I’ve grown to love is ‘O Praise the Name’ by Hillsong. These are the words used to sing of the resurrection:

Then on the third at break of dawn
The Son of heaven rose again
O trampled death where is your sting?
The angels roar for Christ the King.

One of the fun things to do with children is teach them animal sounds. “What does the sheep say?” “What does the Lion say?” What does the angel say?  Angel??? Yes, what do angels say? Apparently the same as the lions. According to this song they roar!

Pretty much from the first time I heard it, I liked the song. Actually, I felt more than a bit unsure about the angels ‘roaring’. It felt somehow a bit coarse. But I began to imagine the angels watching and waiting. Watching the events leading up to the crucifixion. Watching the injustice of his arrest and trial. Watching Pilate capitulating to the baying mob and sentencing Jesus to be tortured and crucified. Watching his slow death nailed to that cross among thieves. Watching as he was buried in the tomb.

And then waiting. Hoping. Maybe they knew what would happen? I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s like to ‘wait’ if you live outside of time like angels must. But I imagine them holding their collective breath. They surely know what it will mean if Jesus does overcome death. Everyone’s future depends on it. All God’s eggs are in this one basket. Death or glory. Come on Jesus.

What else would they do but roar when Jesus conquers death and rises to new life? A billion times more joy-filled than Ireland scoring the winning try against France to complete a Six Nations Grand Slam. A trillion times more sheer joy than anything we can imagine. Why wouldn’t they roar. Let us roar too. He’s the man. He did it. Not a sporting God. The real God. Let heaven and earth rejoice. Alleluia!

So maybe we can get over our reluctance to speak about Jesus’ resurrection outside our personal and Church-based life. Maybe we can get over our reserve about expressing joyful enthusiasm. Yes, a joy which may often be deep and gentle. And a joy which is sometimes a roar of praise.

Nothing more important has happened in human history. Nothing more important than this one person whose life, death and crowning resurrection has declared him with power to be the Son of God and the Saviour of all creation. Let’s not keep this good news to ourselves.

O praise the name of the Lord our God.
O praise his name for evermore.
For endless days we will sing your praise.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord our God.

May the deep joy of the resurrection grow in us. And touched by God’s Spirit, cause us to join in the roar of the angels.

With my love and prayers.

Graham

 

 

 

Dear Friends,

I wonder if you’ve had a chance to see the new display of our Anglian cross pieces in the Church? They date from the 8th century. There is still some work to do on the display but it is well worth a visit now.

I think it was our displays that got me thinking about Celtic crosses – that and St Patrick’s Day. I was first struck by Celtic crosses on a boating holiday on the Shannon river in Ireland, when we stopped at Clonmacnoise, the site of a monastery founded in the 6th century. And the setting for some of the oldest Celtic crosses in Ireland (probably from the 9th century), such as the Cross of the Scriptures (see photo below).

There is a theory that it was St Patrick (in the 5th century) who made the Celtic cross a powerful symbol for Christian faith as he preached the gospel in Ireland. The circle on the cross is said to be the sun, a formerly pagan symbol superimposed on the cross of Christ. In doing so, he boldly brought together the Celtic/pagan focus on creation and the unique redemptive work of Christ on the cross. The carved scenes on the faces of the cross tell the Christian story, alongside Irish culture/history/legend.

Like most stories about St Patrick, it’s unlikely to be historically true, but it nevertheless represents the Christian faith that the missionary St Patrick preached and lived. He challenged pagan practices on many counts but certainly honoured ways of relating to God through the created world.

Easter is a time for us to be brave in the way that St Patrick was brave. It is not enough to honour the creation. Like him we are to preach Christ crucified and risen. Without this there is no gospel. Creation does indeed reveal God’s “eternal power and divine nature” (Romans 1:20) but we need the revelation of Christ and the Scriptures, and his Spirit and the Christian community to guide us.

I may have said this before (!) but to me it doesn’t make sense to believe in the God who made the universe (and perhaps many universes) and yet struggle to believe that the same God can bring about the resurrection of Jesus, our resurrection and the healing of creation. These latter things seem to me no harder than creating the whole universe!

It’s true that we do not know or understand how God can do resurrection, how he can transform our dead-ness and recreate us from the dust that we will have become. But neither do we know or understand how God has made the universe. There may indeed have been a Big Bang but it can hardly have been the first thing, self-created. Creation and resurrection are both mysteries.

So let us celebrate the evidence we do have that Jesus rose from the dead – as witnessed in the gospels, and as the most likely explanation of what happened. And through the inner confirmation of the Comforter, the Holy Spirit, by whom we know we are God’s children.

The coronavirus pandemic has cruelly underlined our mortality, taken away our loved ones and highlighted our fear of death. But Jesus is the light of the world, shining in our darkness, and so we have a gospel to proclaim. Jesus came “to free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death” (Hebrews 2:15).

We do not seek to minimise the pain and trauma of the virus and the grief that is being experienced. We honour the extraordinary science and human endeavour that has produced a number of effective vaccines to combat the virus. We honour the sacrificial work of so many who have been heroic in the service of others, and we look to play our part in that. Yet ultimately we do not see death as a defeat. We see that death has been defeated.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? … No… I am convinced that neither life nor death… nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:35-39).

Happy Easter!

With love

 Graham

 

 

 

Dear Friends,

I like to do crosswords. Usually the quick or simple versions from the Guardian or the i newspaper. I rarely get very far with cryptic crosswords.

Normally I answer a few clues quickly – but the grid remains depressingly full of empty squares. I’ve read every clue, but the mind feels dull and no more answers come to me. Then there’s a second phase as I revisit each clue and ‘get my brain in gear’. And each answered clue then gives letters to help with other ones. And so I grapple my way to the final few.

Mostly I get them in the end. Sometimes going painstakingly through the alphabet letter by letter. Or getting help from Janet or Tim. Sometimes I grumpily resort to Google for specialist knowledge. I mean how can anyone be expected to know the answer for ‘An Eskimo boat’ (Umiak)? Or Madagascar’s currency (the Ariary)?

And I enjoy this?!! Well yes, mostly. Like a physical workout (unless it’s running after a ball which I could do for ever) it’s the satisfaction of having done it that keeps me going – or the shame of not completing it!!

I try to do a crossord most days to keep the little grey cells working. The process is enlightening. Some answers come easily to us in life. Others need a bit more work and there are always things we need help with.

But I think I see something else at work. It’s this ‘getting the brain in gear’ bit. It’s the sort of momentum that is gradually achieved after a slow start.

Watching a goose take off recently from Fewston reservoir, the goose started by flapping its wings without making much forward progress. Then it ran on the water for a country mile and just when we thought it might give up and not take off at all, it rose into the air and soared gracefully above the bridge it had looked in danger of crashing into!!

I often find it’s the getting going that stops me getting going, if you know what I mean. If it doesn’t come easily, it’s easier not to do anything. Have you ever sat around (physically or on Zoom) in a small group and had a discussion? Like in our Lent Groups? It can be hard to start a discussion as the question hangs awkwardly in the air. Then we make the jump into ‘brain-engaged’ space, usually by someone saying something interesting or stirring, and we get up and running. Sometimes even flying. I hope there’s something in this that mirrors your own spiritual momentum through this past year.

There’s a real momentum now as we come out of ‘lockdown’, with the vaccines in particular enabling the roadmap out of the current grave restrictions. But it’s a momentum that needs constant nudging towards positive change, not a return to old ways that have been found wanting.

There has been extraordinary momentum that has allowed and caused drastic change in so many areas of life, not least in the general acceptance of previously unimaginable restrictions on private and public life. And in our appreciation for the NHS, carers, teachers and so on.

And there’s huge momentum in the readiness to address key questions: How do we …. look after the most vulnerable, … treasure the world we live in … recognise how interdependent we all are on this small planet, … think again about who and what we most value … face our own prejudices … address the massive inequality at home and internationally and so on.

So many issues require urgent action now, we can be overwhelmed into inertia – doing nothing. Whereas we simply need to do what we can, building on and generating further momentum. You never can tell whether something will fly or crash until you try!

Never have so many people of good will on our planet been so united in knowing what needs to be done. God is surely speaking loud and clear to all who will listen. But it is costly, requiring sacrifice. And the forces ranged in opposition are many and powerful, turning up in every quarter, not least in our own hearts.

And so each of us grapples with what we are called to do, and how we are called to live, as part of God’s missional loving of the world. God’s model for bringing in his kingdom is sacrificial love.

And what of Otley Parish Church? Where do you see the momentum in the Church and in Otley Parish Church in particular? As we emerge from this phase of the pandemic, what have we learned? What are we being asked to do differently? What do we need to hold on to and what do we need to let go of? Do discuss these questions and share widely. I’d love to hear your conclusions.

It’s been a very difficult time, but a time of great opportunity is coming for which we need to be ready.

I wish you a very blessed Lent, and joy in the journey.

Graham

Dear Friends

When someone believes in you, it’s amazing the confidence it gives you, and what you can do. And when you believe in another person, imagine what confidence that can give them. It’s love in action.

I’m mulling over the reading we had in Church recently telling of Jesus at a wedding in Cana, when he turned the water into wine (John 2:1-11). It’s what might have been going on ‘behind the scenes’ that has captured my imagination.

I’ve been imagining the conversation between Mary and her son, Jesus, as they walk to the wedding. By now, several of Mary’s younger children will have got married, and she’s probably a grandma. Maybe she’s letting Jesus know (again!) that a good wife will help him no end, in whatever demanding but as yet unclear path lies ahead. “So look out for nice girls today. I met your father at a wedding.”

Jesus tells her he doesn’t have time for marriage. Things are starting to happen – now he’s been baptised by John and people have started following him like a Rabbi.

But Mary thinks that makes it more important than ever to have a wife. But she always finds these conversations difficult on her own and misses her husband Joseph who could talk man to man with Jesus.

When Jesus asks his mother not to embarrass him at the wedding, he’s mostly thinking about how she might try to set him up with a girl. “Priscilla may not be in the first flush of youth, but she’s still lovely and such a hard worker. She’s always been sweet on you. I know it’s different for a man but you are 30. You’re not the catch you were.”

So a few hours later when the wedding’s in full swing, and Jesus sees his mother making her way purposefully over to him, he thinks he knows what’s on her mind. Then he sees she’s dragging a couple of servants along with her, and he’s ready to disappear. What can she want? He suddenly becomes aware that he’s standing there with his mouth open, having been totally distracted while in full flow to his friends, who are now looking curiously at him.

“Excuse me a moment” he says and takes a few steps away from his friends just as his mother reaches him. “They’ve run out of wine, Jesus.”

For a moment, Jesus is carried away to his childhood. His mother used that look and that tone of voice when people brought broken furniture to his father to fix. They would come to the house and leave a broken table with his mother. She’d bring it to the workshop behind the house where Jesus was helping his father and say, just in that tone of voice: “Here’s a table for you, Joseph.” She had total confidence he could fix it.

A cacophony of voices spoke in Jesus’ head. He heard his own voice trail off as he complained: “Woman, why do you involve me? My time has not yet come!.” He knew he had to fix it. And his mother seemed to know it too. “Do whatever he tells you,” she said to the servants and took a step back.

Jesus felt a thrill of excitement, and a surge of confidence. He could do this. He was born to do this. Somehow he knew exactly what to do next. It was so crazy he laughed out loud. Fresh water was almost as difficult to find as wine, but when he asked for it, the servants kept bringing it until the big stone jars were filled.

Once or twice Jesus looked at the vast quantity of water and wondered if he’d have been better off starting with a few glasses. But he drew confidence each time he looked at his mother, who was watching him with pride and joy as if it had been his wedding day.

And the wine was exquisite. For a while nobody but the servants and his disciples knew what had happened. But that didn’t last long. Not at a small village wedding.

Many hours later as they left the party, Mary couldn’t stop herself from asking Jesus “Did you dance with any nice girls tonight?”
Jesus smiled in a long-suffering sort of way. He looked at her guilty expression.
“I think we’d better all go down to Capernaum for a few days tomorrow” she said.
“Why’s that?” said Jesus.
“Why do you think?” said his mother.
“Because the wine dealers will be upset with me?
“No.”
“Because people will be queueing up at our house with jars of water?”
“No”.
“Why then?”
“See! You don’t know everything yet. I invited Priscilla’s family round to our house tomorrow.”

With love

Graham

Dear Friends,

Most of you will know that a small section of one of our stained-glass windows in Church has been featured in the Royal Mail’s Christmas stamp collection. You can see the stamp and the window on page 17 in this issue. For me, it’s a window of opportunity for my Christmas letter!

Windows convey the light into what would otherwise be dark places. Individual panels in a large window are known as ‘lights’. Stained glass windows, with biblical scenes and stories, not only convey physical light but also spiritual light. And we are called to be lights to the world, now more than ever, bearers of light into the dark.

The nativity window in our South Transept has been lighting up the inner darkness since 1862. Perhaps, like me, you’ve seen a burst of sunshine bring it dramatically to life when a magnificent array of colour pours through into Church. Occasionally that happens in a service and it is magical.

The artist made no attempt to make the characters in the story realistic, only beautiful. Mary, with lovely yellow hair, is dressed in fine flowing robes like a wealthy lady or a queen. And the baby Jesus is an exquisite mini-person whose body language suggests he could be preaching the sermon! Both are very ‘white’ and non-Middle Eastern. The shepherds (not pictured on the stamp) are also very white and richly dressed, hardly reflecting their lowly social position in Palestine. And the magi of the bible have become 3 kings.

And yet I don’t think many people will have been questioning the realism, but will rather have been admiring the beauty of the window. And will have been ‘re-membering’, as we are today, the familiar story they know so well from the bible.

Perhaps it’s right that Mary and Jesus look smart and beautiful, representing the beauty in them and in so many people who are outwardly poor and vulnerable, but to whom belong the kingdom of God (Luke 6:20). It may help us glimpse the present reality and the future promise that God has lifted up the humble, as Mary proclaims in her song of praise to God (Luke 1:52).

The windows in this particular corner of Church not only tell the story of the birth of Jesus, but also of his death and resurrection, making it a wonderful place to go and contemplate Jesus at the centre of everything. And to allow the word of God to take flesh in our own heart.

You may have heard a brief radio interview I did on Radio Leeds one morning recently before I woke up properly. What I didn’t get a chance to say was: the window speaks to me of beauty and vulnerability.

This is a time when so many of us all around the world are feeling our own vulnerability, and that of dearly loved family and friends. We fear for the increased vulnerability of those near and far away who are ‘on the front line’ or have few resources, or both. And we fear that so much of the goodness we know in the world is vulnerable to dark vested interests and powers (Ephesians 6:12).

So in this context, it is immensely telling, and hopeful, that the whole of history pivots precariously on this one vulnerable child in whom God shares and embraces our human vulnerability, and who will die at the hands of powerful vested interests. But it will turn out to be a victory not a defeat. And so we are invited to embrace our vulnerability and trust the loving purposes of God who, in the midst of a troubled world, offers us peace in Jesus.

Beauty? God, the artist, sees the beauty in you and me. He asks us to see it in others too. We don’t have to pretend we’re anything other than faulty works in progress, but like any loving parent God is determined to paint us as beautiful and show off our good points! So let the light shine through! You are loved and treasured.

If you’re like me, the window might need a bit of cleaning, but no better time to do it than in Advent.

Christmas will indeed be different, but fuller than ever of good news. Including you and I letting our light shine and (with the angels) glorifying God.

Have a wonderful and happy Christmas.

With my love and prayers.

Graham