on worshiping well

What are we doing when we gather for worship on Sunday? The hymns, the readings, prayers, sermon, and Eucharist. What do they amount to? The simple answer is this: to give glory to God. We meet to worship God, to give thanks, and to express our love and our devotion to the one who loved us first and to a degree beyond our wildest imagining. Indeed the origin of the word worship means worthy of honour. 

Sometimes, however, we inadvertently make worship about ourselves. We start focussing on how much our likes and desires are being satisfied. We choose a church that worships in a particular way because we prefer that. We want to sing our favourite hymns. We don’t want liturgy to deviate from a familiar and comforting formula. We need to sit in our favourite pew. We enjoy being noticed when we contribute from the front. Soon worship becomes less about honouring God and more about self-satisfaction. 

Worship isn’t simply a matter of what takes place on a Sunday morning. For Christians it is a way of life. All that we do should honour God: the way we lead our lives, conduct ourselves at work, home and in the community — and not least how we sustain prayerful union with God through our daily prayer and devotional life. As we become more adept at this, and our personal prayer life becomes richer, we begin to discover that Sunday worship is less about pleasing us and instead is the culmination and fulfilment of our weekday worship, in which we join with others to collectively glorify God. This week, why not take time to prayerfully reflect on who is being honoured by your worship. And if you’d like some resources to help with your prayer life at home, a good place to start is here. 

on the existence of God

Earlier this month, the Swiss theologian Hans Küng died. He was a giant in the world of academic theology and the enormous size of the books he produced was matched only by his reputation, not just in his native Roman Catholic Church, with whom he had a sometimes difficult relationship, but across Christian traditions. 

Many years ago he came to have dinner one evening, at a Vicarage where I was lodging. He was charming and gracious, with a sharp mind and a warm sense of humour. As he was leaving my Vicar asked him to sign some books. Noticing that one, titled Does God Exist?, was about 800 pages long, the Vicar’s wife said, “Hans, I’m never going to read all that. So just tell me: does he or doesn’t he?” We all roared with laughter and with a twinkle in his eye and an enigmatic smile the great man responded, “I’m afraid you’ll have to read it to find out.”

The question of God’s existence can neither be proven nor disproven. This is what makes the arguments between people of faith and ‘New Atheists’ so futile. For Christians, however, our belief in God comes partly from a choice we’ve made as followers of Jesus, and partly from the tradition handed down to us. But the main evidence comes from the transformation of our inner life through spiritual practice. In discovering prayerful union with God, we encounter love, peace and fullness of life that nothing else in this world can touch. 

on reading the bible aloud

In her sermon last Sunday, Vanessa spoke of the benefit of reading the Bible aloud. It’s a wonderful way to read scripture, enabling the meaning and language to come alive. There are days when I become aware that I’m not taking in the passage I’m reading, perhaps because of tiredness. Reading aloud helps me concentrate and I’ll often notice points I might otherwise have missed. 

I first learned the benefit of reading out loud with poetry. Many poems are written to be heard. Unless you speak them, much of the rhythm, word play and meaning can be lost. Take this line from Walt Whitman’s Beat! Beat! Drums! ‘So fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.’ Read it aloud to yourself, and notice how it comes to life. The choice of the words ‘pound’ and ‘shrill’ mean we can practically hear the drums and bugles. When we read aloud we hear why the writer chose certain words. 

There’s a long Christian tradition of speaking scripture. Even monks living in silent orders were encouraged to read scriptures aloud during their private devotions. By how could they do this without making a noise? They mouthed the words as they went along. That’s another way to slow down and focus, particularly if we’re a bit shy about being overheard. When we read the Bible aloud we discover the different voices that are present in it - priests, historians, poets, storytellers, letter writers and more. And behind them all, the still, small voice of God. 

photo: Alexandra Fuller

on placing hope in things unseen

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).

This verse came to mind recently with regard to the vaccine against Covid-19. On this little miracle of science hangs our hope of a way through the pandemic. We cannot see with the naked eye the active ingredients of a vaccine, which weigh a few millionths of a gram, and yet we know these little jabs will offer the protection we need to begin to live freer lives again. The scientists who undertook and peer-reviewed the research are our witnesses to their efficacy and safety. 

Of course, the writer of Hebrews was talking about Jesus not jabs. We have not seen him either, yet our hope is built on faith in him and on those witnesses whose encounters with him are handed down to us in the gospels. 

If you’ve had your vaccination, you may know about it because of a pain in your arm or from feeling off colour for a day or two. Likewise, our faith in an unseen God is borne out by the side effects we experience - though these are usually not of the unpleasant kind... The devotional life brings with it a profound encounter with the unconditional love of God, an assurance that our past failings need not weigh us down, and an ability to plug into a source of power that can change lives for good. With Jesus we emerge from the dark tomb of a life pre-occupied with self, into the dawn of a new day in which we are freed to follow him and centre ourselves on his loving kindness.

 

The wind is sometimes used as an illustration to help explain God to children. Although you can’t see the wind, you can see and feel the effect it has. And so, therefore, with God.

Well, that’s alright for starters I suppose, but it doesn’t really come close to helping us get to grips with the incomprehensible concept of God. What does help, is the person of Jesus Christ. In St Paul’s memorable phrase, “He is the image of the invisible God,” (Col 1:15). In other words, if we want to know what God is like, look to Jesus. 

And what we discover there, is a heart of love. The starting point of our faith is simply this: 

We are loved. 

God is the source of that love and indeed his very nature is love (1 John 4:16) We are created to be recipients of that love, and in the person of Jesus Christ we find God’s love given full expression.

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth," (John 1:14). Our journey of faith into the heart of God’s love begins with following Jesus. Reading his words, following his example, becoming more like him. This is our task. And, as a church, we help one another with this task. We allow God to love us (which takes work), we allow ourselves to be loved by others (that takes work too) and we commit ourself to loving them in return (that really takes work). 

Work takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a project. And so we pray for courage and strength and perseverance to pursue this work, making ourselves part of the currency of love in our community. 

The man Jesus, fully human, came and dwelt among us. Showed us the way of love. A love that he was so committed to, that it took him all the way to the cross. 

But the story doesn’t end there. He rises to new life as Christ, fully alive and present to us in the spiritual and heavenly realm. This is the cause of our rejoicing on Easter morning. That whenever we open his gospel, open our hearts in prayer, share his body in the Eucharist, we too enter that heavenly realm and meet him there -- while also still being right here, right now, on Earth. 

Alleluia Christ is risen. 

He is risen indeed, alleluia. 

Photo by Pisit Heng on Unsplash

on protest

Not everyone is comfortable participating in public protests or demonstrations. Perhaps it doesn't feel polite, turning up as a mob to chant and make one's voice heard on an important issue of the day. Or maybe we don't like the kind of people demonstrations sometimes attract. Or we might feel we're not the protesting type; unsure if it will actually change anything. Or possibly we just don’t like crowds. And yet there are time when we must make our voice heard and stand up for what is right. 

There is a long tradition of protest in the Bible. The Old Testament prophets were all about calling out injustice and godlessness in their society, sometimes courageously telling their king that the way he ruled was against God's commandments. More recently, you may have seen the photograph (above) of a nun in Burma, Sister Ann Rose Nu Tawng, kneeling before armed police pleading with them to shoot her rather than the young protestors calling for a return to democracy. God continues to call his people to speak truth to power whenever society forgets the values of the kingdom of God.

Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on a donkey, with the crowds shouting 'hosanna' and paving his way with palms, was a form of protest. It was a parody of the Roman military processions of the time designed to remind people of their power and strength. Jesus’ procession was a demonstration of a different type of reign, an indicator that Jesus’ kingship is based not on power, but on love, self-sacrifice and care for the poor. 

photo: Radio Veritas Asi

on praying the stations of the cross

What does it mean to follow Jesus? 

This is the question at the heart of every Christian’s experience. We each seek, in our own way, to follow his teaching and example in our life so that we, in turn, become more like him. Through prayer and devotions we invite Jesus to inhabit our inner selves, to feel closer to him and to his leading in our life. When we read a gospel passage, we might think about which character we most identify with and imagine how they felt after their encounter with Jesus. 

During Passiontide (the fortnight before Easter) we use another way of following Jesus, Stations of the Cross. The fourteen images of Jesus’ passion on the walls of St Anne’s, allow us to take a prayer pilgrimage with Jesus on his journey to crucifixion. It’s a sombre and sorrowful journey, as we set ourselves alongside Jesus in the suffering he undergoes. As we do so, we pray for those who suffer in our world today. We reflect on the examples of kindness shown to Jesus by courageous people during his trials. The Stations of the Cross enable us to profoundly experience the lengths to which God is prepared to go, to show us how loved we are. In turn, they inspire us to give of ourselves in love to others. 

This year, because of the pandemic, we cannot be in church to journey the stations, but we can pray them at home. We've set up a special page on St Anne's website where you can download the images and a series of reflections. You might wish to read and consider one station a day in the fortnight before Easter, or read them in chunks, or give an hour of your time to slowly reading and praying them all in one sitting. I pray they will be a blessing and bring you closer to the love of Jesus this Passiontide.

on feeling far from God

What do we do when we feel far from God?  There are always times in life when it’s hard to pray, or open our Bible, or work up the enthusiasm for church.  These might be described as desert experiences where life feels dry, dull, or devoid of richness.  Just as life has its ups and downs, so too does our faith.   

The season of Lent mirrors the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness: a trying time indeed.  No scriptures to hand.  No synagogue or temple to worship in.  No home comforts, nor even any certainty where his next meal would come from.  And 40 days is a long time.  

I find by the time we get to this stage of Lent  it's becoming somewhat trying.  All those good intentions I began with – my Lenten fast, that book I said I’d read, daily rhythms of prayer – all begin to come under pressure.  And there's that little voice in my head that says, ‘Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’ Where does that come from?  It's precisely the same voice that tried to tempt our Lord away from his purpose on his desert retreat. 

What can we do in such circumstances?  Keep going!  The devotional life rests on structure and discipline.  It won’t feel rewarding every day, but our commitment to showing up for God will always bear fruit.  Maybe not today.  But one day soon where, instead of hearing the tempter’s voice, it's the still small voice of God speaking to us.  

Make sure you don’t miss it.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash