Psalm 22: Why have you forsaken me?

Psalm 22: Good Friday 2017

A psalm of lament for all those who walk in darkness,

who cry out to a God who seems to have abandoned them.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me?

O my God, I howl in the daytime but you do not hear me.

I groan in the watches of the night, but I find no rest.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

We are the hidden ones, the lonely ones, those who suffer in silence.

We are the elderly widow, sitting alone in a care home with no-one to visit;

The homeless man, huddling against the cold in a urine-tainted alley;

The confused teenager, scarred by abuse and the blade in her own hand;

The grief-stricken parents, crying out for the baby so cruelly snatched from them.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

Yet still you are the holy God whom Israel long has worshipped.

Our ancestors hoped in you, and you rescued them.

They trusted in you, and you delivered them.

They called upon you: you were faithful to your covenant.

They put their trust in you and were not disappointed.

But as for me, I crawl the earth like a worm,

despised by others, an outcast of the people.

All those who see me laugh me to scorn:

they make mouths at me, shaking their heads and saying,

‘He threw himself on God for deliverance:

let God rescue him then, if God so delights in him.’

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me?

O my God, I howl in the daytime but you do not hear me.

I groan in the watches of the night, but I find no rest.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

We are the innocent ones, the powerless ones, those who cry out in silence.

We are crushed and broken, cast aside; trampled on by those with power.

We are the children gasping for breath with Sarin-tight lungs;

We are the ordinary civilians in Aleppo and Homs;

The helpless pawns in the global struttings of might.

We are the unsuspecting citizens of Westminster and Stockholm;

We are PC Palmer and Jo Cox, giving our lives in the cause of what is right.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

Yet still you are the holy God whom Israel long has worshipped.

Do not desert me, for trouble is hard at hand,

and there is no one to help me.

Wild beasts close in on me, narrow-eyed, greedy and sleek.

They open their mouths and snarl at me,

like a ravening and roaring lion.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me?

O my God, I howl in the daytime but you do not hear me.

I groan in the watches of the night, but I find no rest.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

We are the persecuted ones, the voiceless ones, those who persevere in silence.

We are the Coptic Christians, torn apart by extremist bombs;

We are Nigerian school girls abducted by Boko Haram;

We are the children, the women, whose basic rights are stolen;

The lesbians and gays condemned by church and state;

The minority groups, the poor, and all who are pushed to the margins.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

Yet still you are the holy God whom Israel long has worshipped.

Why are you so silent, God, why so far from helping me?

My strength drains away like water, my bones are out of joint.

My hands and my feet are withered, you lay me down in the dust of death.

The huntsmen are all about me:

a circle of the wicked hem me in on every side.

They have pierced my hands and my feet –

I can count all my bones –

they stand staring and gloating over me.

They divide my garments among them.

They cast lots for my clothes.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me?

O my God, I howl in the daytime but you do not hear me.

I groan in the watches of the night, but I find no rest.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

We are the hungry ones, the thirsty, who groan with pangs of silence.

We are the mothers and babies in South Sudan, crying out for a breastfull of milk;

We are the victims of greed in a world of plenty;

The marginalised poor in the slums of Manila and the Favelas of Mexico;

The exploited, the trafficked, those held in bonded labour;

We are the disempowered immigrant standing in line at a foodbank,

While the rich grow richer and turn the other way.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

Yet still you are the holy God whom Israel long has worshipped.

Be not far from me, O God:

you are my helper, hasten to my aid.

Deliver me from the sword,

my life from the falling of the axe.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me?

O my God, I howl in the daytime but you do not hear me.

I groan in the watches of the night, but I find no rest.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

We are your people, your ordinary people.

We sit in silence with all our fears and doubts.

We feel like broken candles in a world of growing darkness,

silent voices in a world of violence and greed.

Injustice and oppression shatter the lives of so many and our prayers seem so futile.

We cry out to you, O God, and yet you are silent.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

Silent God, we bring the cries of our battered hearts, and the cries of those burdened by illness and bowed down by the weight of oppression. We bring them so that we may not be silent. Hear us in the name of Jesus, forsaken on the cross.

* The quotations from the Psalm (in italics) are taken from Jim Cotter, Psalms for a Pilgrim People. Morehouse Publishing, 1998

February 27, 2017

Crocuses in the Gutter

I might have missed them

had not the lingering morning storm left me

head-bowed, eyes-down

as I walked the dog.

A little row of crocuses in the gutter:

tiny,

fragile,

reminding me

that even in the cast-off debris of our world

hope can spring forth.

Beauty,

simplicity,

life.

January 26, 2017January 26, 2017

I am going to start living like an artist

Art is not

just an expression of beauty:

soft, green pastels

watercolour meadows on misty hills

leading me to lie down by peaceful waters

and rest.

It is an expression of truth

in its brutal reality,

cruel brutality.

The darkness that surrounds

the anguished cry of a mother separated

from her child;

the screams of a young man on a waterboard;

the groans of our mother

earth ravished, exploited.

My pen and my brush

longing for justice

when there is none.

January 1, 2017

STARS at NEW YEAR

A Meditation for the New Year

It was about this time long ago that three who have been called wise journeyed to a small, insignificant town … “ and suddenly the star they had seen rising went forward and halted over the place where the child was. The sight of the star filled them with delight.” (Matthew 2.9-10)

Just a week ago, I was out on a starry night listening for kiwis – the bush was pitch black and the sky breath-taking…. all shining with stars. We were filled with delight.

The sight of the stars never fails to be an epiphany, an experience of the Divine, right in the midst of daily life. On the threshold as the old year slips behind and the new one comes to life, an epiphany awaits us too.

So, looking back …

What were some of the ‘epiphanies’ of the past year – discoveries of the Holy One in the midst of things? How did I grow because of them?

Which stars was I following last year? Where did they lead me?

Those long-ago-wise-ones left both hope and suffering in their wake: how did my experience of the past year affect the world in which I live?

And looking around me now …

Where is the sky of my life all shining with stars? Which stars are calling me?

With my Christmas-eyes alert and searching, what star do I notice rising? Where is it leading me?

What gifts do I bring with me into the year ahead?

What is at the heart of my new year prayer?

EPIPHANY

by Macrina Wiederkehr

Creator of the Stars

God of Epiphanies

You are a Great Star

You have packed my path with light

You have filled my sky with stars

naming each star

guiding it

until it shines into my heart

awakening me to deeper seeing

new revelations

and brighter epiphanies.

O Infinite Star Giver

I now ask for wisdom and courage

to follow these stars

for their names are many

and my heart is fearful.

They shine on me wherever I go:

the Star of Hope

the Star of Mercy and Compassion

the Star of Justice and Peace

the Star of Tenderness and Love

the Star of Suffering

the Star of Joy

And every time I feel the shine

I am called

to follow it

to sing it

to live it

all the way to the cross

and beyond.

O Creator of the Stars

May you become within me

An unending epiphany.

***

As I read this starry meditation on a grey, drizzly new year morning, my epiphany is that a Star of Hope is shining, that a Star of Suffering is shining on me. The darkness of yesteryear held, for me, stars of both hope and suffering: is this next year to be the same?

Can I embrace these starry opportunities – with delight.

Or will I turn away – desolate, convinced that being a star of hope or a star of suffering is beyond me.

What might it mean, as the year unfolds, to be filled with delight at the sight of a star?

O star of wonder, star of light,

star with royal beauty bright.

Westward leading still proceeding,

guide me to thy perfect light.

May the gentleness and strength of God,

the delight and vulnerability of the Christ,

and the graceful mystery of the Holy Spirit,

be with us now and always.

AMEN

December 8, 2016December 8, 2016

The Beatitudes: The promise and the praxis of hope

Re-reading the Beatitudes

Last week I read again the Beatitudes – Jesus’ famous pronouncements of blessings in his Sermon on the Mount. I’m not sure why I had failed to see it before, but this time it was staring me in the face: The Beatitudes fall into two very disparate groups.

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

‘Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

‘Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

(Matthew 5: 1-10)

The smaller group (Beatitudes 1, 2 and 8) offers a promise of hope to those who are victims – of suffering, violence and greed. The other five present, instead, a challenge to all of us to take on attitudes that counter our dominant cultures of violence and greed and to become part of the solution rather than the problem.

Seeing the Beatitudes in this light seems to me to address one of the fundamental problems thrown up by these sayings – that they just don’t seem to be true. The reality is that those who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, and those who are persecuted just aren’t blessed in any of the usual senses of the word. And even those who are meek, merciful, pure in heart, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness (justice), and the peacemakers far too often seem to be trampled on or taken advantage of rather than blessed.

But if we see the Beatitudes as holding out a very real promise of hope for victims, and a very pragmatic challenge for the rest of us, they start to carry a very different meaning.

The promise of hope

In speaking to those who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, and those who are persecuted, Jesus seems to be speaking directly to those who are the victims of suffering, violence and greed:

Blessed are the poor in spirit: those who are broken, crushed, weighed down; the victims of abuse, those who have had their spirits trampled on, who have been fed the lie that they are worthless, unloved and unlovable; those suffering with mental illness, depression or fatigue; those who are lonely, hurt by broken relationships; the disabled, the homeless, those with addictions; those rejected by society as somehow unworthy.
Blessed are those who mourn: the grieving, those who have lost loved ones; those who mourn the loss of their own innocence; those suffering from physical illness; those who have lost their homes or possessions; those made redundant or who have lost a sense of their own purpose or significance in life.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness (justice) sake: the innocent victims of violence and war; the displaced, refugees; those who are unjustly exploited or oppressed; the victims of racism or other prejudices.

And, in Luke’s version of the Beatitudes, Jesus seems to go even more directly to the point, pronouncing blessings on those who are the victims of inequity, exploitation and injustice:

Blessed are you who are poor
Blessed are you who are hungry now
Blessed are you who weep now (Luke 6: 20.21)

And to all of these, Jesus seems to proclaim the promise of a future hope: that their present lot is not the last word: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven; they will be comforted; they will be filled; they will laugh. Jesus offers the hope of something far better to come – of a time when there truly will be ‘no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ (Revelation 21: 4)

The Praxis of hope

Which brings us then to the second group of blessings – those which challenge us to a new way of living, the praxis of hope – in which we adopt attitudes of non-violence, sacrifice and humility, attitudes which counter the suffering, violence and greed of our world.

And so Jesus challenges us to be meek – to stand up, non-violently for truth; to hunger and thirst for justice and righteousness, to speak out on behalf of the oppressed, to challenge the injustices of our society; to be merciful not judgemental; to be pure in heart, not hypocritical or duplicitous; and to be peacemakers.

By creating and maintaining our cultures of individualism, consumerism, fear and blame, we all (me included) carry responsibility for those who are harmed by or cannot cope with the inequalities and pressures they create.

None of that is easy – I know that I am so bound up in our culture that I too contribute to the ongoing injustices of our world and exploitation of the earth’s resources, that I enjoy the blessings and privileges of education, wealth and power, while others go hungry, are displaced and exploited. But the alternatives seem to be either that I continue to buy in to our individualistic, consumerist mentality, and remain a part of the problem, or I strive, continually to live Jesus’ way of non-violence (Satyagraha) and become a blessing to others – part of the solution, the praxis of hope.

It may be a hard path to take, but it is the only way that we can see the kingdom of heaven, that we can be filled, to see God in other people and in our world, to receive mercy and for all of us to become children of God.

November 13, 2016November 12, 2016

Re-reading Malachi: a sermon for Remembrance Sunday

We live in a messed up, hurting world.

Remembrance Sunday

Today is Remembrance Sunday on which we give thanks for those who gave their lives for the peace that we have enjoyed for the past 60 years; we remember the horror of war – the pointless loss of innocent lives; we pray for those who live with the ongoing reality of violent conflict; and we strive for greater peace and freedom.

In Bristol, 19,240 shrouded figurines were laid out in memory of the British soldiers who were killed on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, 1^st July 1916.

100 years later: from 9/11 to 11/9

As we commemorate 100 years from the Battle of the Somme, it is patently clear that we continue to live in a messed up, broken world. We just need to think of the events of this week with the US election; or the Brexit vote just 5 months ago; or the terrible reality of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and all the ongoing terrorism since; or the living reality of the conflicts in Syria and elsewhere.

We seem to be surrounded by violence, intolerance, bigotry and greed: if anything such values seem to be more prominent, and it is easy to lose hope and sink into despondency.

Reading Malachi

The book of the prophet Malachi is the last book in the Old Testament. It was written around the time of Nehemiah and the re-settlement of Jerusalem after the exile.

And it is a book of judgment:

See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the Lord of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch (Malachi 4:1)

This makes it a really hard book to get to grips with and to reconcile with our understanding of God and the reality of the world we live in. It comes across as a book that incites religious bigotry and division.

A divided world

We like things to be simple, to make sense according to our sense of right and wrong. And so we tend to divide the world into two groups: the righteous and the evildoers; those who are in God’s kingdom and those who are not. And we like to believe that God loves the first group, but hates the others; that God will bless the righteous, but the evildoers will be destroyed.

That was perhaps how the Israelites saw things, and we can read Malachi from that perspective:

‘I have loved you,’ says the Lord. ‘Yet I have loved Jacob but I have hated Esau; I have made his hill country a desolation and his heritage a desert for jackals.’ (Malachi 1:2-3)

We can read Malachi in that light – divide the world into those who are good and those who are evil; those who are in the kingdom and those who are out.

Religious Bigotry

There are a number of problems with that:

It doesn’t match reality. It is not the evil who suffer for their violence and greed, all too often it is their innocent victims: the young men sent to the trenches of WWI; the innocent civilians in Coventry, Dresden, or Hiroshima; the millions of Jews sent to the gas chambers; the families of those killed in action in Afghanistan or Iraq; the millions of refugees fleeing inconceivable horrors under Islamic State…
Rather than leading to peace, it exacerbates the violence that separates. It is the crusader mentality that prompted those in the middle ages to march out against the infidels, and closer to home, was used by George Bush and Tony Blair to justify military action in Iraq – ‘we are right and God is on our side’. Donald Trump and his rhetoric in the election campaign; the racism that we saw in this country post-Brexit
It infiltrates our churches so that we become exclusive and judgmental. Think about how we, as a church treat people who don’t necessarily conform to our beliefs or behaviour: Muslims, gay people…
It blinds us to the reality that we are just as much to blame.

Are we really that different from those who perpetrate violence and injustice? We like to portray them as evildoers: child abusers, wife batterers, paedophiles, corrupt bankers and stock brokers, bigoted white Americans or Daily Mail readers… The reality may be that we are not that different.

An unfolding word: Re-reading Malachi in a different light

Psalm 119 gives a different perspective on how we can read the words of the prophet Malachi:

The unfolding of your words gives light (Psalm 119:130)

Perhaps, then, a crucial part of challenging religious and any other bigotry is being prepared to have our own prejudices and preconceptions challenged.

So perhaps, in the spirit of this ‘unfolding’ of God’s word, what we need to do is re-read Malachi, in a different light: in the light of Jesus, the Messiah, the sun of righteousness who has risen with healing in his wings; the one who came, not to build walls, but to break down the dividing wall of hostility that separates people; the Prince of Peace, who came to overcome violence and evil, not with yet more force and power, or with tactics of shock and awe, but in humility, non-violence and grace.

Perhaps we need to see the prophecy of Malachi, not so much as a condemnation of those who are different, the evildoers, those who are not in God’s kingdom, but rather as a reflection of the cry of God’s heart: God’s longing for justice and healing; God’s longing for all to know that they are loved and accepted; and God’s longing for all to accept the cleansing and healing that he offers.

If we do that, we will find that most of the words of judgment spoken in the book of Malachi are, in fact, spoken against those who are ‘in’: the people of Israel, God’s chosen people; and particularly against those who claimed to be religious.

A message of hope: the sun of righteousness

We will find also that it is a message of hope: of the sun of righteousness coming with healing on its wings – extending healing to all those who are abused, persecuted or oppressed; those who are hurt by the violence and greed of this broken world; those hurt by the judgments of us who claim to be part of God’s kingdom.

For you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings. (Malachi 4: 2)

This is not some soft, wishy-washy message of bland acceptance, ignoring the reality of injustice, violence and greed that is in each one of us. God will bring judgment, and it will be like a fire. But it will be like the fire that burns up chaff and stubble in a harvested field, or like the refiner’s fire that burns up impurities in silver or gold. The farmer will only burn up the chaff and stubble in a field that he cares for, the refiner will only put precious metals in the fire. It is not a fire of torment or destruction, it is a purifying fire and one that leads to justice, to healing, to peace, to joy.

So, if the prophet Malachi were to come to our churches today, what do you think he might see? What might he be challenging us to? Where might he be confronting some of our bigotry, complacency or preconceptions?

October 30, 2016October 30, 2016

Camino reflections: Portuguese hospitality

The taxi driver assured us he knew the way to Mosteiró and the start of our Camino.

Leaving the airport, we passed through the inevitable industrial estates on the outskirts of Porto, then on through increasingly rural spaces: small fields of maize dotted between the warehouses and factories, until finally we were bumping over cobbled streets through elderly Portuguese villages.

Eventually he abandoned us on a quiet street corner and pointed to a run-down café on the other side of the road, confidently telling us that this was Mosteiró. There was no sign of the Camino; no friendly yellow arrows pointing us towards Santiago de Compostela. Just a silent Portuguese street, miles from anywhere.

In the café a few elderly men were passing the time of day over tiny cups of sweet, black coffee. We asked if this was Mosteiró, where the start of the Camino was, and whether we could get a sandwich or a bowl of soup to start us on our way.

After eyeing us up and down, one of the men volunteered that this was not Mosteiró, that we would find the Camino a few kilometres back down the road on which we had just come, and that the café sold coffee only, and no food.

Then, recognising our disheartened faces, he broke into a smile, bundled us into tiny car, our backpacks and walking poles crammed into the boot, and drove us back to Mosteiró and the start of our Camino. He dropped us by a warm and friendly café where hordes of farm labourers were tucking into bowls of soup, washed down by carafes of vinho tinto, and pointed out the bright yellow arrows that would set us, refreshed and energised, on our way.

That simple, generous hospitality to strangers was a feature of our Camino: from the owners of the Albergues and Casas who welcomed us into their homes; the elderly couple who plied us with green figs they had just been picking from their tree; the two old men who daily came down to a river to feed the ducks; the friendly gestures of people we met on the way; and the cheerful waves and ‘Bon Camino’s that greeted us as we tramped our way.

Portugal is not a wealthy country, and much of the area we walked through seemed caught in a previous century.

Perhaps, though, the very presence of pilgrims, walking those paths over so many centuries, has endowed the culture with a sense of hospitality: to welcome the pilgrim and the stranger.

October 16, 2016

Pilgrim: Walking the Camino Portugués

Eight days, 103 kilometres. Four pilgrims.

A pause in the busyness and emotions of life.

To walk the Portuguese Camino from Porto to Valença has been a wonderful experience. Returning home to ordinary life and a busy few months ahead, it has been good to reflect on what was it that made it so special. Was this truly a pilgrimage (we never intended to go all the way to Santiago de Compostela), or just a gentle walk in the Portuguese countryside? If it was a pilgrimage, what was its significance?

Pilgrimage: The journeying of a pilgrim: a journey to a shrine or other holy place

Chambers Dictionary

Perhaps I am a pilgrim, and remain a pilgrim, marked not just by the shell on my backpack, but in my everyday life as well.

Pilgrim: A wanderer, wayfarer: one who travels to a distance to visit a holy place: allegorically or spiritually, one journeying through life as a stranger in this world

Chambers Dictionary

The Camino, for me, was significant, not so much in the destination, but in the journeying itself, and the incompleteness of it. And while there was a physical aspect to it – located in a particular time and place, walking part way along the Camino towards Santiago de Compostela – it also represented a pause in that bigger pilgrimage of life. The very act of walking created stillness and presence. So I was able to lay aside the emotions and the busyness of life, neither to linger in the past nor to rush forward to the future, but simply to be present, in the present, walking – with Lois, with my parents, with our God. To appreciate beauty, stillness, silence, simplicity.

‘Petrus, on the other hand, argued that the guiding concept along the Road to Santiago was its simplicity. That the Road was one along which any person could walk, that its significance could be understood by even the least sophisticated person, and that, in fact, only such a road as that could lead to God.’

Paulo Coelho, The Pilgrimage, p52