not always

Text:

They did not always welcome me

their eyes sharp with distrust,

misunderstandings, spoiled hopes

grown sour and hard.

They did not always embrace me

more eager to pursue other things,

too choked by their concerns

too anxious-hearted, unable to

identify their own need.

They did not always accept me

too busy for such words as mine

finding them too difficult or

demanding, considering me

a blip, a bluster, a mad fool

and yet

I welcomed them in the very act

they used to reject me,

embraced them with the very arms

they pierced, stretched wide

accepted them as they were

- distrustful, anxious, dismissive

and pointed to the possibility of

a different reality

Words (C) Lucy Mills 2011

Used in welcome service

absence or ascension?

As today is Ascension Day, I'm reminded that I was meant to post about those Tom Wright lectures. Ah. Time has hurtled away from me recently, and everything is getting squeezed in (and sometimes out). What's the link? Wright made a point about the ascension that I found thought provoking. He said that often we shrink the idea merely to 'Jesus going back to heaven'.  It implies a sense of absence. But, he said, Jesus' ascension was about him taking his rightful place as king.

Whatever you may think about this, do you think it's true? That we can fall into the trap of making 'Ascension Day' about when Jesus 'went back to heaven' in the sense of leaving rather than taking up his rightful position as King?  

Is it a very human thing, I wonder, when someone 'leaves' us, to think not about where they are going and why - but the fact they will be absent from us? Do we think of Jesus as absenting himself from us, rather than 'coming' in a new way, whereby, as Wright puts it, heaven and earth are joined for ever? And of course Jesus' ascension preceded the pouring out of the Holy Spirit - indeed he himself said his 'going away' was necessary in order for this to happen. Do we think of the ascension merely as Jesus going up and away, rather than establishing his 'sovereign rule' and pouring out the Spirit (which is hardly an absence)?

Rembrandt - The Ascension

Please note this is my summary and related thoughts - I'm not claiming to speak for Tom Wright!

he is risen

God raised him from the dead, freeing him from the agony of death, because it was impossible for death to keep its hold on him. 

- Acts 2:24

Happy Resurrection Day

desertion - reblogging for Maundy Thursday

This was originally posted on Good Friday, 2009.  I thought I'd share it again here, on Maundy Thursday 2011.  Even if only to remind myself.

“Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.”

These were the words I read aloud at the end of our Maundy Thursday service yesterday evening, which was a thoughtful service leading us ‘from the table to the garden’.

The words have echoed in my mind. 

They deserted him and fled.

As Jesus began the last hours of his journey to the cross, he was alone. Those who surrounded him were not his friends and supporters, but were hostile critics, mockers, haters. He was friendless in the crowd.

Even Pilate’s reluctance to pronounce a sentence upon him was not friendship enough. In the end, he washed his hands of Jesus.

They deserted him and fled.

Peter, buoyant impulsive Peter with all the marks of desperate loyalty: ‘I will never desert you!’ Peter who follows them in secret, wanting to know what will happen. Peter, who then denies even knowing
Jesus, not once but three times.

When it came to the crunch, Jesus faced all this alone.

The disciples did not understand, despite all the times he had warned them of what was coming. They did not understand why this had to happen. They could not cope with it when it did.

They deserted him and fled.

Then, after all the trial, the to-ing and fro-ing, being passed between befuddled rulers who could not, or would not, save him, he began the walk to Golgotha.  Only one of the twelve stood before him at the cross, together with Jesus' devoted women followers, distraught at such a moment.  Deserted by his chosen disciples – denied by one, betrayed by another. Then - condemned to death by those in power.

And so they crucified him.

They did not see the fulfilment of prophecy. They did not understand his way of doing things. He did not ‘fit’ with their idea of a Messiah. He turned everything upside down. They feared revolt and rebellion.

He loved the least and the lost and the ones they had shunned.

And so they crucified him.

What happened at the cross? What is the atonement?
The at-one-ment?

I believe it has a whole rainbow of meaning – many colours, many words. All part of what Jesus achieved on our behalf. Sacrifice, redemption, ransom, substitution, Love’s ultimate demonstration, victory over evil, the re-alignment of humanity with God, mercy, justice, the path to adoption into God’s family, the greatest swap in the history of the world – our ugliness for his righteousness.

All these and more, for we can never entirely pin it down. There are always further nuances we can discover about this event which changed the world. Trying to slot God’s action into our ideas of him is not going to give an accurate impression. We need open hearts to learn more, see more, believe more and understand more.

In the eyes of the Torah, to be crucified  meant that the person was under a curse. The crucifixion made no sense to those who observed it, who called out: “Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!!” Matthew 27:40b.

Does anyone else feel that echo from the testing wilderness moments right at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry (see my thought’s on Luke’s account of this over at Thirsty Ground)?

It made no sense to those who talked among themselves, and mocked him: "He saved others," they said, "but he can't save himself! He's the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, 'I am the Son of God.' " - Matthew 27:42-43

But he did not come down.

Darkness at the cross.

‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’

That enormous feeling of isolation as one man bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But despite all appearances, it didn’t end here.

Vindication is coming.

The end is only the beginning.

impossible

It would be impossible for me

to hold you in my hands,

nor would I wish to.

Even the idea of you is uncontainable,

mind-bending, and yet

so beguiling,

that he who is before all things

should want to walk beside me,

take an interest in such a fragile

heart as mine - 

It would be impossible for me

to hold you in my hands

although I try to understand

you better, not to squeeze you

into my poor definitions, but

for you to define me.

You are vital to my existence

sustaining each thought, 

my every breath -

It would be impossible for me

to hold you in my hands -

rather,

I am held in yours.

Image: mine

part two of a personal story: under the waves

My nose was baptised a fraction after the rest of me.  A fleeting moment passed as I was aware that the tip of my nose was above water, and then I was lowered just a bit further before coming up out of the waves.

I received infant baptism as a baby and was later confirmed, both  in the Church of England.  So how did I get here, on a pebbled beach beneath a sign which proclaimed loudly and cheerfully 'BAPTISM HERE' just days after my 18th birthday?

I had no problem accepting that infant baptism and confirmation could be seen as a theological equivalent to believers' baptism (and I know that the Holy Spirit and the act of laying on of hands is important in confirmation, too).  I did not discriminate in any negative way on those grounds. I still do not, although I am a proponent of believers' baptism in my personal theology. I was at sixth form college at the time, where I had made more friends and some of them were Christians, from various traditions and backgrounds. My decision to be baptised by total immersion was more of a personal decision than a theological one, yet it was act of obedience, just the same.

I didn't see a particular need for being baptised, having been sprinkled with water as an infant and confirmed when I was 14. I knew that for my parents the former was an act of dedication; they did not believe infant baptism made me a Christian.  My confirmation was where I made those promises for myself.  I must confess, however, to feeling a little sad not to have consciously participated in the symbolism evoked by the water. I say 'consciously' - I was conscious, but I cannot remember it, for obvious reasons!

The decision I made started with a niggling.  I kept coming across things about baptism and it kept on...niggling at me. I was rather surprised by this niggle.  I wasn't entirely clear what to do with it.  Gradually it grew stronger and stronger until it became clear that there was someone behind it.  I didn't know what to do.  In the end, I talked to my mother, who was supportive - I knew she would be.  I confessed the need to have company in this - someone to be baptised with  me.  So we prayed together that evening that if God truly did want me to be baptised by total immersion, there would someone who would accompany me in the whole experience.

That week I walked into my sixth form college where one of my friends was sitting in a chair, beaming.  'I'm getting baptised!'  She told me, jubilantly.  It still makes me smile, even now.  Any doubt was erased by delight.

My friend had a Methodist background and she too had taken the same steps as me.  Neither of our churches having such a thing as a baptistry, we chose neutral ground.  Well, more accurately, we chose the sea.  We were baptised by the chaplain of our college, himself an Anglican and incredibly helpful and understanding of our wishes. In the end, the service was called 're-affirmation of baptismal vows by total immersion', which seemed to cover things.  The words were the same - baptised in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we made our personal vows to follow Jesus and acknowledge him as Lord of our lives. We knew there were some who still wouldn't understand, but we desperately wanted to do it.

So surrounded by friends and family from various denominations, plus some holidaymakers who asked to watch (my response: of course!), we entered the water.

Before we were baptised, the two of us prayed together. I knew then that for me, this was the decision.  I'd already come to faith, I'd already made various commitments on my journey, but this, I had decided, was for life.  There was no going back for me, not after this.  In enacting the dying (going  under) and the rising to new life (coming up) I was displaying my decision.  Jesus was not only my Saviour, he was my Lord.  In a sense, I visibly signed over the ownership of my heart that day.  I quivered with the intensity of my decision.

I did not know then that in later times, when my faith was all but broken and darkness swarmed over me, how much those promises made in the water would hold me fast.  I didn't know how much I would need that memory. How often, when doubt and grief and chaos flooded my mind, I would recall those prayers we said amid the pebbles, and the promises we made before we went under the waves.  How I would fiercely hold onto that symbolic decision when everything else was pulling me away from it.  How much I would thank God, with all my heart, that he had niggled me into it.

Neither did I know that I would end up in a church which came with a baptistry.

All I knew was: this is my vow.  This is my holy ground, where I take off my shoes.  This is my response to that niggle which became a call.



To be continued...again.

words that stir

During my recent research of early Christian writings, I was looking at those of Hippolytus (of Rome), with whom I was not very familiar.   (I used the Christian Classics Ethereal Library - a useful resource.) Those who were writing obviously had their own styles, and some felt heavier and harder to read than others.  But I found Hippolytus engaging.  This paragraph, part of his 'Against the Heresy of One Noetus' I find quite spine tingling; I actually murmured it aloud to get a sense of the rhythm and passion of the words.

"This is Jesus of Nazareth, who was invited to the marriage-feast in Cana, and turned the water into wine, and rebuked the sea when agitated by the violence of the winds, and walked on the deep as on dry land, and caused the blind man from birth to see, and raised Lazarus to life after he had been dead four days, and did many mighty works, and forgave sins, and conferred power on the disciples, and had blood and water flowing from His sacred side when pierced with the spear.

For His sake the sun is darkened, the day has no light, the rocks are shattered, the veil is rent, the foundations of the earth are shaken, the graves are opened, and the dead are raised, and the rulers are ashamed when they see the Director of the universe upon the cross closing His eye and giving up the ghost. Creation saw, and was troubled; and, unable to bear the sight of His exceeding glory, shrouded itself in darkness.

This (is He who) breathes upon the disciples, and gives them the Spirit, and comes in among them when the doors are shut, and is taken up by a cloud into the heavens while the disciples gaze at Him, and is set down on the right hand of the Father, and comes again as the Judge of the living and the dead. This is the God who for our sakes became man, to whom also the Father hath put all things in subjection. To Him be the glory and the power, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, in the holy Church both now and ever, and even for evermore. Amen."

today

 

Christ is risen!

today

I sit, grazing the horror and the holiness with the tips of my fingers
my dimmed vision conjouring a dusty road leading to Golgotha
reminding myself of the vivid reality of a suffering God


Why commemorate Good Friday?  In order not to forget.

Easter words - take two

Recently a whole lot of Google searches are arriving at my blog, searching for 'words that describe Easter'. They arrive on my older post 'Easter Words'...which made me re-read it myself. So, because I felt it might be worth sharing again, yes, I'm doing my first ever re-post. Enjoy!



Am taking a moment to try and contemplate the coming remembrance and celebration that is Easter. And I find I struggle. I get so caught up in the every day; it is hard to focus in the way that I would like. I would like to carve out meaningful thoughts and place them here, to help myself think on what is coming.

But of course, it is not something that happens once a year. It is something that happened once for all, for all time, and so every day I live in the reality of the crucifixion, and the resurrection. The significance of that death, that aching pause of the day inbetween, and the vindication that was the rising again.

And when I think of it, I breathe in and feel a tremor through me – for how I could live, not how I do live. How do I live the reality of Easter, daily? How do I remember the words without using jargon or clichés? There are some fantastic words which talk about what our faith means, but they are in fact such a closed language to those who do not know the meaning of them. How do I talk about it in a fresh, beautiful, heart-touching way? Where can I find a new vocabulary to recapture the meaning of truth?

We tire of cliché and jargon and all the words. We tire of the same ways of saying things. We find some concepts difficult to describe. We want to remember it all in a fresh way. I want to remember it all in a fresh way.

How do I talk about the clogging blackness that sits between God and humanity, and how the white light of what Jesus did blasts it all away? How do I talk about God and us – out of alignment, but put back in alignment with a cross? How do I talk about love which sears through evil and darkness and illuminates a whole new way of living?

Perhaps the breath of God may transform the words; perhaps I simply need to open my mouth and utter one thing, however clumsy, inept, or incoherent.

Perhaps all that matters is that I try.

the child

garlands of light lining the streets
every window an invitation
to find a new present for giving
a new incentive for spending

a flurry of parcels and wrapping
of ribbons, rosettes, of artificial
pine, of the search to find
the perfect gift for those
who are impossible to buy for…

stepping back now, out of the shopping mall
into a different land and time
where love finds its touchstone
and he who sprinkled stars in the sky
sleeps under that sky tonight

a child, one child, the child
who holds the promise of all our futures
tightly in those tiny hands
the mystery of eternal, divine
in the depths of fragile humanity

angels punctuate the sky like tear drops
falling, tears of joy, that baby boy
the one they have come to proclaim
to those in the humdrum, the ordinary,
the miracle of the light of the world
born in the darkness of night

born for them, born for us
the King of kings and Light of lights
hope for all the world.

the fact of the matter

the fact of the matter is
I'm a work in progress

every so often I remember
those who are far worse off than I am
and keep things all
in their proper perspective
every so often

sometimes I ignore
the impulse to strike out
in my defence, remaining
wisely silent and calm
sometimes

from time to time, I let go
of the need for the approval
of others, and focus instead
on the One who truly matters
from time to time

once in a while, I have
an utterly generous moment,
and all I can think of
is giving to another
once in a while

occasionally, I take time
to stop, reflect, and be thankful
for all that I've been given,
rather than all I think I lack
occasionally

every now and then, I can almost
touch the beautiful proximity
of my creator, sensing
his extravagant love
every now and then

the fact of the matter is
I'm a work in progress




***

The last few days, the air outside the front door has been full of butterflies, mainly Painted Ladies, coming through on the wave of warmer weather. Summer, after politely waiting in the wings while we all cooed with delight at Spring, is emerging. When I walked out with my camera this morning, the heat of the sun instantly hit me - making me realise I was wearing the wrong clothes.

Do you ever get the feeling you are wearing the wrong clothes? I feel it, when I end up being all the things I hate. When I'm irritable, impatient, selfish, consumed with a desire to please everyone, when all I can see is me and I forget the needs of everyone else. There's an awareness niggling at the edge of my mind, knowing, somehow, that I'm wearing the wrong clothes. And as soon as I turn to seek God's face, and feel his warmth, it becomes even more obvious.


My identity is in Jesus Christ, so when I behave in a way contrary to that lifestyle, I am acting outside of my true identity. I'm growing into it, I suppose you could say, but there are times I need to draw back and think - no, wait. I don't have to respond to this situation like this. With God's help, I can win over my natural reflexes (forces of habit, a lot of them). Instead of letting my insecurities take the reins, I can choose to dwell on the security of being 'in Christ', getting things in perspective, choosing to be wise.
I wear the wrong clothes a lot of the time. But in Colossians we are told:
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. (Colossians 3:12-14)

Those are the things we should be wearing. I am a work in progress. I'm not going to get it right all the time. But I would like to do it a little more frequently than I do now. I want to see the transformation of my heart and mind. So that one day I will be as beautifully clothed as those butterflies, after their own amazing metamorphosis. I want to be who I was made to be.

thoughts on humility

Pondering, as always, on several things stepping softly through my mind – making the choice of writing them down, before they flee and are forgotten.

Thinking about – humility.

Humility is not an easy thing to describe, especially as we think of it as a personal attribute, within oneself. And ‘self’ is something humility slides away from. The very nature of humility means it is hard to pin down – it does not notice itself or its virtue, because that would not be humility.

Humility is a right view of oneself – but I hesitate even to say that, because I am still talking of self. Humility does not look inwards, but outwards – and not merely outwards, but upwards, using a metaphor of the divine ( we use ‘up’ to portray that which is greater, better than ourselves – ‘down’ has more negative connotations). It sees and recognises all that we are not, alongside what we are – responds in gratitude to all that we have been given, and refrains from the judgements that we so easily make of one another.

Humility sees and confesses the darknesses inside us, does not hide the stains on our souls but offers them up, knowing that no industrial cleaner will ever do the trick of cleaning our hearts. Only God can do that. After confessing, humility accepts the grace offered with joy, not with a sense of ‘this-is-how-it-should-be’ or believing in our deservability (‘deservedness’ is the one you’ll find in the dictionary, but I prefer deservability here – a slightly different emphasis). No, instead with a sense that it is God who chooses to cleanse, forgive and accept us, and not something we have accomplished ourselves.

In our minds there is a fine line between humility and low self-esteem, but in reality they are two completely different attitudes. Humility is a high calling, seeking to honour God by realising his greatness and understanding how small am ‘I’ in comparison. To be humble is to accept an undeserved gift.

Low self-esteem, however, does not look to God as its frame of reference. It compares itself with all and sundry for the sake of cementing the opinion that I am useless. I always feel like a failure. I am never what he or she is. I cannot be anything worthwhile, despite all your talk of God and his compassion and love. There is always an ‘I’ in low self-esteem, because it looks inward all the time, picking itself apart. I am not, I can not, I will never be anything.

Humility recognises that we can never be ourselves as we were made to be – without God. And it recognises that because God is with us he has given us worth, and that though we are not particularly strong, capable or wise in our own selves, through the gifts God gives us we can be part of his plan. Humility sees the privilege God has given us in spite of ourselves – and bows down in awe. Humility kneels before the giver with gratitude. There is no gratitude in low self-esteem – only bitterness, resentment, and a disguised form of pride. For who are we to tell God that what we think of ourselves is truer than what he thinks of us?

Humility looks in a straight line – towards God. Low self-esteem is a circle, spiralling inwards, all the time. Humility chooses to receive, though we do not deserve it. Low self-esteem grabs its own opinion and refuses to receive anything different.

But when one who suffers from low self esteem finally grasps the enormity of God’s blessing, finally grasps the fact that Jesus died for her own sake, she cannot dismiss such a gift any longer. She can only give over her pride and accept that God has called her loved. Rejecting this love is rejecting the most profound gift we have ever been given. It walks away from grace. But grace still exists, and delights in loving the unloved, transforming the broken, and melting the hardest heart.

What Jesus did was the very epitome of humility – ‘who, in being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death – even death on a cross!’ (Philippians 2:6-8)

We can cling onto our very selves so tightly, not trusting enough to let go, afraid to lose control, afraid to relinquish our own judgements of ourselves in favour of someone else’s…and clench our fists around the ‘I’ of ourselves. We try to be ‘humble’ but this is not how it works. Humility is a letting go, not holding on. Humility sees us warts and all, looks to our maker in all his glory and recognise how far we fall short – and then turns towards him.
Humility is willing to empty itself completely. Humility unclenches the fist in order to hold onto grace.

Strike through the ‘I’, and you are left with a cross.

Resurrection Sunday

For if, while we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! - Romans 5:10 (emphasis mine)

The resurrection is far more than just a dead man coming back to life - it is proof that Good Friday was not in vain. The power of death has been broken. Death could not hold the Son of God, and by his rising again we see firmly at last that Jesus is indeed God's son, that all that he said about himself was true. What has happened means that life has changed from black and white to technicolor - as the radiance of the resurrection transforms our lives.

The resurrection is essential, for what it showed and what it proved, and in what it means for all of us. Because when we accept Jesus as Saviour and as Lord in our lives, we die with him, and then we live with him. It is the ultimate new beginning, the ultimate transformation, the ultimate moment where death is overcome and life begins anew.

Happy Easter. Happy Resurrection Sunday. May you know the risen Christ more closely every day.

at the cross

“Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.”

These were the words I read aloud at the end of our Maundy Thursday service yesterday evening, which was a thoughtful service leading us ‘from the table to the garden’.

The words have echoed in my mind.

They deserted him and fled.

As Jesus began the last hours of his journey to the cross, he was alone. Those who surrounded him were not his friends and supporters, but were hostile critics, mockers, haters. He was friendless in the crowd.

Even Pilate’s reluctance to pronounce a sentence upon him was not friendship enough. In the end, he washed his hands of Jesus.

They deserted him and fled.

Peter, buoyant impulsive Peter with all the marks of desperate loyalty: ‘I will never desert you!’ Peter who follows them in secret, wanting to know what will happen. Peter, who then denies even knowing Jesus, not once but three times.

When it came to the crunch, Jesus faced all this alone.

The disciples did not understand, despite all the times he had warned them of what was coming. They did not understand why this had to happen. They could not cope with it when it did.

They deserted him and fled.

Then, after all the trial, to to-ing and fro-ing, being passed between befuddled rulers who could not, or did not, save him, he began the walk to Golgotha.

Only one of the twelve stood before him at the cross, together with Jesus' devoted women followers, distraught at such a moment.

Deserted by his chosen disciples – denied by one, betrayed by another.

Then - condemned to death by those in power.

And so they crucified him.

They did not see the fulfilment of prophecy. They did not understand his way of doing things. He did not ‘fit’ with their idea of a Messiah. He turned everything upside down. They feared revolt and rebellion.

He loved the least and the lost and the ones they had shunned.

And so they crucified him.

What happened at the cross?

What is the atonement? The at-one-ment?

I believe it has a whole rainbow of meaning – many colours, many words. All part of what Jesus achieved on our behalf.

Sacrifice, redemption, ransom, substitution, Love’s ultimate demonstration, victory over evil, the re-alignment of humanity with God, mercy, justice, the path to adoption into God’s family, the greatest swap in the history of the world – our ugliness for his righteousness.

All these, and more, for we can never entirely pin it down. There are always further nuances we can discover about this event which changed the world. Trying to slot God’s action into our ideas of him is not going to give an accurate impression. We need open hearts to learn more, see more, believe more and understand more.

To be crucified was seen to mean the person was under a curse. The crucifixion made no sense to those who observed it, who called out: “Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!!” Matthew 27:40b.

~Does anyone else feel that echo from the testing wilderness moments right at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry (see my thought’s on Luke’s account of this over at Thirsty Ground)?~

It made no sense to those who talked among themselves, and mocked him: "He saved others," they said, "but he can't save himself! He's the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, 'I am the Son of God.' " - Matthew 27:42-43

But he did not come down.

Darkness at the cross.

‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’

That enormous feeling of isolation as one man bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But despite all appearances, it didn’t end here.

Vindication is coming.

The end is only the beginning.

***

Last year I posted a hymn by Peter Abelard on Good Friday. Find it here.

To read other bloggers reflecting on Easter, visit this post.

Today:4/10, medium

art as an expression of faith

I was sitting down yesterday evening and decided to get out my sketch pad and pencils. That makes me sound like I do it regularly, but it is very rare for me to do any drawing these days. And without the practise needed, I struggle to create the likeness and perspective that I want. Also, my painful hands are a bit of a problem (note to self-go back to doctor).

However, I decided impulsively to draw my own "picture" of Jesus, since I have been thinking about images of Jesus in this Easter season. This was the result:

I found it quite satisfying to do, and would like to try more, using different expressions and situations. (Note: this is a photograph, not a scan.)

It also made me ponder on the nature of an artist's impression of an event or a person. I was thinking about how there may be elements we disagree with, having seen/imagined it differently. But also how it may open our eyes to a new way of seeing things, evoking an element or facet of something we had not previously discovered.

So, some questions it brought to mind:

• How can we use art as an expression of faith?
• Is there are certain style or piece of art that has impacted you?
• What do you think of as 'art'?

Today: 4/10, medium

the Passion on screen

Browsing through the Radio Times, there doesn't seem to be much Easter-oriented religious programming on in Holy Week. Bar the Greatest Story Ever Told on Channel 4 on Good Friday, the only other thing I could make out was last year's The Passion, from the BBC, being aired in full on BBC4 on Wednesday (I talked a little bit about it last year, search under label 'Easter').

(There is also a programme on Handel's Messiah on Good Friday, but i get the impression it is more about the composer than the subject matter - perhaps I'm wrong.)

This seems ironic to me as Good Friday's spread in RT actually illustrates the events of the "original" Good Friday, crosses at the top, Jesus' followers one side and Roman soldiers the other. But actually finding something relating to it is difficult. Usually there is more relevant programming than this.

Speaking of the Passion, I sat down to watch Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ not that long ago. I know some find it a profound reminder of what happened to Jesus (and I respect that), but for me I'm afraid it was a turn off. The flogging scene was so much focused on the actual gore that I was hiding behind a cushion, not from distress at what was happening to Jesus but because I was totally 'grossed out' for want of a better phrase - seeing skin being ripped off with nails from the lashes was just too much.

My reaction was akin to someone squeamish turning away from a Casualty operation scene than it was to being moved by the events of that day. In the end I was forced to fast forward it to the crucifixion, where I watched Mary kiss Jesus' toes and come away with a mouth covered in blood (ugh), before going on, finally, to the resurrection. By this point I was in such a grossed-out state that it did not have much effect for me.

For me, this was the first portrayal of the crucifixion and previous events that hasn't brought me to tears in some time, because I was so grossed out by the gore, with an underlying awareness of the 'special effects' being used to their utmost (e.g. skin being ripped off).

In the light of the chunk of the film taken up by the flogging - initially I managed to watch but after a while started wondering when it would be over, I found myself quite unmoved in the traditional sense. I think it was because it focused on the Passion itself rather than any previous story about Jesus there wasn't time to build up love and sympathy for the character (this purely an observation of the focus of the film rather than my own faith). And then there was this overload of gore, which for me overcast everything else.

Like I said, I know there are those who are moved by this film, and I don't want to undermine this. Neither do I want to deny the awful suffering of Jesus. I simply found the visuals too gory and gross to actually derive any meaning from it. I don't think I am super-super squeamish (although I probably get more so as I get older), but this was just too much for too long for me. And I watched it while Andy was out, so I was dealing with it by myself.

I'd be interested in hearing anybody else's thoughts.


***
Oh, a related question that I'm always thinking whenever watching any on screen recount of the story of Jesus. Why does he always have to be white?!! Most likely he was dark skinned, neither black nor white (very fitting, in fact). It may have been the way he was portrayed in medieval art (with the additional bizarrity¹ of blond hair, blue eyes, halo etc) but can we finally see a physically realistic Jesus?

¹ Not officially a word, as far as I know.

***

Today: 3-4/10, medium high

the Shepherd's voice

Wrote this some time ago and it has been on the computer doing nothing. Thought might share it here, in case it was helpful for someone.

Sometimes God feels absent. He seems silent.

Long absences and a lack of communication feed insecurity and pave the way for other voices. You can be deceived into thinking someone doesn't love you. You take their silence to mean rejection; when you cannot see them you lack assurance. Weakness and tiredness make us even more susceptible to doubt. You can imagine the most outrageous unfaithfulness, forgetfulness, or become convinced that you cannot possibly be love-able.

And then you hear the voice of one who loves you. Love which reverberates through every syllable; love that can't be denied. When God feels absent it takes an effort to remember the last time we heard his voice or sensed his presence. But he is always faithful, never forgetful.

When the sheep hear the shepherd's voice, they know it. All other voices are exposed for what they really are. The shepherd does not desert his sheep when the wolves of terror appear, when doubt breaks into the fold, when fear snaps at the heels of the lambs. He does not walk away from the sheep that, in straying too far, has become ensnared by thorns. Rather, he de-tangles the sheep from her prison and carries her safely home.
(John 10:1-15)

Today: 4/10, medium

no boundary

"The heart of Jesus loves us as we are and not as we should be, beyond worthiness and unworthiness, beyond fidelity and infidelity; He who loves us in the morning sun and the evening rain without caution, regret, boundary, limit, or breaking point."

Brennan Manning

at our weakest

'When we are at our weakest, our eyes turn once more to Christ as the true source of our strength. When other voices are silent, we are most willing to hear Christ's words of comfort and challenge. When others pass by, we turn again to rediscover the tender embrace of our Lord. It is in such moments that Christ draws near, seeking to renew and redirect us.'

Alister McGrath, Knowing Christ

***

Note on photograph: a nicely timed drive led to a lovely view of the sun going down over the sea!

Today: 4-5/10, low - medium