The words have been the inspiration for children’s talks I have done on at least half a dozen occasions. The idea of writing on your hand so that you don’t forget something is immediate and concrete for children (as well as being in defiance of the teacher who would tell you not to write on your hand!).

Barbara, who led our contemplation, invited us to ponder the words, to make them our own. The suggestion of carving evoked pictures in my mind of richly grained wood being shaped by a mallet and chisel.

The picture took shape of a mallet coming down again and again on the chisel. The chisel had been struck so many times that the wood at the top of the handle was splayed out over the ferrule around the end. As I watched the mallet striking the chisel, the grained wood became a human hand and the chisel became a square black crude nail driven repeatedly into the hand. The names that had been carved were driven deep into blood.

It was an alarming image, the safe and reassuring picture being replaced by one of violent cruelty. This was not a picture that I could have used in a children’s talk, but it was a picture of the profound level of God’s love for us in Jesus, the names being driven into his hand being people for whom he died.

I left the church quietly to ponder a disturbing reflection, feeling uneasy that a gentle and domesticated picture of our relationship with God could shift in my mind to something altogether more challenging, and as I walked the words of one of Stuart Townend’s most beautiful of modern hymns drifted into my mind.

How deep the Father’s love for us,
how vast beyond all measure,
that he should give his only Son
to make a wretch his treasure!
How great the pain of searing loss:
the Father turns his face away
as wounds which mar the chosen one
bring many sons to glory!

Behold the man upon a cross,
my sin upon his shoulders;
ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
call out among the scoffers.
It was my sin that held him there
until it was accomplished,
his dying breath has brought me life—
I know that it is finished.

I will not boast in anything,
no gifts, no power, no wisdom;
but I will boast in Jesus Christ,
his death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from his reward?
I cannot give an answer;
but this I know with all my heart,
his wounds have paid my ransom.

I don’t mind that though, as I get into my car on a Saturday evening I remember the times when my Granddad left his fireside to go out into wind and rain and mud to care for his animals at all hours of the night. Driving down to the supermarket is pretty much wee buns compared to calving a cow in winter’s darkness.

Driving to the shops at odd times also means I get to see things that I would otherwise miss. Lurking outside the shops were a bunch of what last week’s Irish Times colour supplement would have described as ‘skangers’, (so much for the egalitarian spirit of the newspaper of Vincent Browne and Fintan O’Toole!). They weren’t causing trouble, just loitering with the inevitable hoodies pulled up. The omnipresent security man stood about ten yards away watching them. He seemed of Eastern European origin, was this what he anticipated when he came to our land of opportunity? Standing outside of a supermarket on a Saturday night?

I came out of the supermarket, threw my purchases in through the passenger’s door and then sat in my car and watched, The group stood outside of the off license, some had packs of beer, none of them showed much sign of going anywhere. Then the group broke up and some drifted away. Looking to the right, there were two teenage girls, heavily underdressed for an Irish March evening. They had made it clear that they weren’t hanging around any longer, if the boys wanted their company, the had better move now.

How about that? I thought. We don’t need ASBOs, we need feisty females who will make it clear that they aren’t interested in the silly games of boys.

There is a whole tradition in the Old Testament of women who put things in order when men were useless. Young women like Deborah from the book of Judges would achieve a whole lot more than court orders.

Take two news stories, firstly, the 1998 referendum on the Good Friday Agreement in the North. The vehement opposition to the agreement was led by Ian Paisley and his Democratic Unionist Party. The result of the referendum was reported as an overwhelming victory for those who believed in power sharing and a numbing defeat for the opponents of the Agreement.

Secondly, the election result after the completion of the count in the North today. “The people have spoken”, roared Dr Paisley, as only he can. The media reported a crushing victory for the DUP.

Now take the statistics.

In the 1998 referendum, the opponents of the Agreement gained 29.8% of the vote, as against 71.1% in favour.

In the Assembly election this week, the DUP gained 30.1 of the vote, as against 69.9% who voted against them.

How can 29.8% be a crushing defeat and 30.1% be a great victory?

It’s much easier to paint a simple black and white picture than one with a thousand shades of grey, but bad news reporting isn’t just laziness, it’s dangerous in communities that watch such stories and believe they have cause for triumphalism or alienation.

Jesus said once “Simply let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.”

Let’s report things as they are. Spinning stories might make easy news; they make for bad community relations. It’s not just the Evil One we need to look out for, it also lazy journalists.

“The meek shall inherit the earth,
if that’s alright with everyone else”

It had probably been doing the rounds for decades, it wasn’t even particularly funny, but it was true. Gentle people get trodden on. One man said to me once, “If you walk in the middle of the road, you have to expect to get run over”.

Being trodden on, getting run over, is probably a fairly Christian thing to happen, doesn’t Jesus say that we can’t be his followers unless we take up our cross and follow him? The trouble is that it is not much fun to be always on the losing side.

Moving to Northern Ireland when not much more than a kid, I had high ideals about peace and reconciliation. I believed that right thinking people would surely vote for parties that tried to bridge the divide. I was quickly disabused of my naivete.

I remember one council election when we, and most of the people we knew, voted for the Alliance Party, in fact, I suspect we could have written the names of most of the Alliance voters in our ward because the total vote didn’t go much beyond most of the people we knew.

In the sixteen years I lived in the North, I never once voted for a candidate that managed to get elected. Perhaps my vote was some sort of electoral albatross, perhaps I should have advised the candidate not to be preparing a victory speech because I would be voting for him (in Northern Ireland it was usually him).

The first time in my life that I voted for a candidate that was elected was for Dun Laoghaire Rathdown County Council elections in 1999; for all the difference my vote made in the four different constituencies and council areas where I lived in the North, I might as well have stayed at home and watched the telly.

The Northern elections today present a picture of an ever more polarised community, but, for me, there was one bright shining light. When Naomi Long was elected on the first count in East Belfast, I shouted with delight – the Alliance vote there had doubled. As the results came in, it became clear that Alliance would win a total of perhaps seven seats, not much compared to the DUP on one side and Sinn Fein on the other, but, for the meek, not a bad result.

Labels: alliance, northern ireland election

“In the little Eastern European village of Chelm lived a young man, who considered himself an atheist. Chaim, the Chelmite had heard that the very famous “Moishe the Atheist” lived in the neighbouring village. Eager to find a like-minded soul to learn from, Chaim packed a bit of food in his kerchief, hung it on a stick, and made his way through the woods to find Moishe the Atheist and to study with him.

After a few days journey, and directions from a few helpful strangers, the young man found Moishe’s little cottage. He knocked on the door and received permission to enter. There was an old, bespectacled man hunched over the table, half-hidden behind a pile of books.

“Yes,” said the older man.

“I am looking for Moishe the Atheist,” said Chaim.

“I am Moishe,” said Moishe.

“Sir, I am an atheist too, and I would like to be your apprentice,” said the younger man.

Moishe slowly removed his glasses and peered at the stranger. “You are an atheist?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Chaim.

“Have you read the Torah?” Moishe asked.

“No, sir,” said Chaim.

“Have you studied the Talmud?”

“No, sir,” said Chaim.

“Are you familiar with all our prayers and philosophies?” asked Moishe.

“No, sir!” said Chaim adamantly. “I am an atheist.”

“Ach,” said Moishe, waving the young man away dismissively. “You are not an atheist. You are only an ignoramus”

Atheists are people who take faith seriously. They have travelled the same ground as Christians and come to different conclusions. I find in the atheists who contribute to the website http://www.edge.org/ an integrity that we as people of faith often lack.

Perhaps we need each other, they, to stop us drifting down the path of the Inquisition or into Protestant Fundamentalism; us, to stop them drifting towards making an idol of the human intellect and believing in a value free universe.

Having spent seven hours today attending a committee meeting, the colleague’s plaque seems an appropriate reflection on precious time being completely lost. The committee had the grand title of being a “Board”, but the business seemed no more than a rubber stamping of decisions already taken. If the Kingdom of God was advanced one inch by my presence at that meeting, then it moves in ways far more mysterious than I can possibly fathom. Today’s business could have been done by a group of three or four people; having eighteen of us present added nothing to the final result.

Although committed to democracy, I wonder, sometimes, if it is the best way to run church affairs. What would happen in the Bible if they had adopted a democratic committee method?

Moses would have returned with the tablets containing the Commandments and told the Lord that after an extensive consultative process and after a show of hands at the meeting, the people of Israel had decided not to ratify the Law.

Jesus would have told his followers that they must take up their cross and follow him and the disciples would have come to him and said that whilst they accepted the sincerity of Jesus’ words and whilst they agreed with him in broad terms, they didn’t feel able to recommend the programme he advocated.

Christian history simply would not have happened if a committee had been responsible. There is a Biblical mandate for sharing ministry, but there is also a Biblical mandate for getting on and doing things. Prophets would never have had any impact if they had appointed a committee to consider what condemnations were to be issued; Saint Paul‘s letters would never have been sent if they had required a committee for their composition, it would still be thrashing out now what way the Letter to the Romans should be written.

The organisation under whose auspices today’s meeting was held is excellent; it does life changing work; it takes seriously Jesus’ words. It’s a weakness of our age, in which we often appoint more administrators than frontline staff, that a committee is thought even necessary.

Joxer:  Be the holy, that’s good news!

Boyle: How is it good news? I wonder if you were in my condition, would you call it good news?

Joxer:  I thought…

Boyle: You thought! You think too sudden sometimes, Joxer. D’ye know, I’m hardly able to crawl with the pains in me legs!

Joxer: Yis, yis; I forgot the pains in your legs. I know you can do nothin’ while they’re at you.

Boyle: You forgot; I don’t think any of yous realize the state I’m in with the pain in mylegs. What ud happen if I had to carry a bag o’ cement?

Joxer:  Ah, any man havin’ the like of them pains id be down an’ out, down an’ out.

Sean O Casey – Juno and the Paycock, Act 1, Scene 5

It’s almost thirty years since we did Sean O’Casey’s plays for A level. Living in Somerset in the 1970s, Dublin seemed as far away as New York or Sydney. I remember on one occasion being asked by our tutor to look up where Rathmines was in order to see how far Boyle would have to travel to reach the job that Father Farrell had found for him. The text book said it was a suburb of Dublin.

Six years later walking three miles from Churchtown into Trinity College most mornings of the week, I used to mutter to myself about Boyle as I passed through Rathmines halfway into my journey. Boyle could talk about what was necessary, but had a finely honed skill in avoiding anything that smacked of effort.

Boyle seems to reappear more often than I would like; his spirit lives on ninety years after O’Casey described his character. Whether in the politicians who outline detailed responses to problems, but never seem to have the resources to implement change; or in the trades people who promise to carry out all sorts of work, but have an inexhaustible supply of excuses as to why they failed to appear at the time they had promised, Boyle lives on.

Where Boyle seemed absent was in the small rural community in Co Down in which I lived for seven years. The culture seemed very different. One farmer told me once that he tried to live his life according to the words of Psalm 15:

LORD, who may dwell in your sanctuary?
Who may live on your holy hill?
He whose walk is blameless
and who does what is righteous,
who speaks the truth from his heart
and has no slander on his tongue,
who does his neighbor no wrong
and casts no slur on his fellowman,
who despises a vile man
but honours those who fear the LORD,
who keeps his oath
even when it hurts,
who lends his money without usury
and does not accept a bribe against the innocent.
He who does these things
will never be shaken.

It would make an interesting set of standards for Dublin in 2007!

“How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing”. Luke 13:34

In the image of the hen and the chicks I find memories of childhood days when life was going to last forever and where the world was a very simple place.

My Granddad’s farm where I spent my early years was very old-fashioned, even in the early-1960s it. The memories there come from times before I was literally dragged to the village school, being lifted kicking and screaming onto the school bus each morning. If I could be sick during assembly I could escape the ogre that taught the infant class. Miss Todd, the headmistress, would ‘phone my grandmother; and my uncle who was at home on the farm would come and collect me in his green Morris Minor Van with its reassuring smells of straw and cattle feed.

The smell of straw always evokes reassuring memories. It brings to mind my uncle’s van. It brings to mind the warm smell of the dairy cows in their stalls on cold and dark winter evenings. It brings to mind the wheat and barley harvest during the month of August.

The arrival of the grain was a great time for the hens that my grandmother kept. They lived in wooden houses close to the farm house and spent their days scratching around the yard. The eggs were always a rich brown colour and my grandmother would wipe each one individually before placing them in trays that were collected by the egg man each week. Summer days were great for the hens. There was constant activity around the farm, no fox dare come near. If any Reynard was tempted, there was a 12 bore double barrelled shotgun inside the back door. Its barrels were a polished, dull black and the stock was a rich chestnut colour. The world was safe for the hens and there were rich pickings to be had in the grains of corn that fell to the ground as heavily-laden trailers rolled across the yard.

If the hens were well-protected, their chicks were even more so. At the first sign of danger from approaching tractors or small boys, the hens clucked loudly and the chicks came running to shelter under their wings.

This picture that Jesus uses, the picture of the hen and the chicks, is, for me, a picture of absolute security. It’s a picture of care and protection. It’s a picture that says all is well with the world. It is a picture of how deeply Jesus felt about those who had rejected him, those who had turned him away. It is a picture of great sadness. God sends his Son to his beloved people, God offers them his care and protection, and they are not willing.

Occasionally small boys, intent on catching chicks, can so position themselves as to block the chick’s path to safety. At this point the chick becomes frightened and panics. It runs this way and that cheeping loudly in fear. It will run anywhere to escape.

When, like the people of Jerusalem, we say “no2 to God, we become like one of those chicks separated from the hen. We say “no” and then we run frantically through our lives going this way and that desperately searching for security. If we have a particular job or a particular home or a particular car or a particular amount of money, or if we are friendly with particular people, or if we have a certain social standing – then we believe we will have happiness and contentment and security and all those things we are searching for. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work because in the end we have to come to terms with our own mortality.

The chick only rests content when it finds security under the hen’s wings. We only rest content when we find security with God.

Jesus wanted to gather the people of Jerusalem, he wanted to hug them as his very own loved ones, but they didn’t want to know. They couldn’t accept a God who was gentle and humble and caring. They wanted a God who would give them what they wanted. They wanted a God who gave them power and control and dominance.

They were not willing to accept Jesus because he didn’t fit into their picture of God. I wonder what picture we have of God. Bolts of lightning? Armies of angels? Blinding lights? Astonishing events? If we had to describe God how many of us would ever use the picture of a mother hen? This is the picture that Jesus uses, a picture of a God who is gentle and warm and caring.

The people of Jerusalem didn’t want that sort of God. To turn to a God who was gentle and warm and caring meant you had to accept a need for such a God, it meant accepting that you were frail, that you had weaknesses; that you could not cope alone. They weren’t going to do that, they wanted a God who made them powerful.

What sort of God do we want? My English Protestant view of God has always been of a very stern character; a headmaster who kept an eye on you to make sure you worked hard and didn’t let the side down. Not the sort of God who is much use when you face questions of mortality.

When it comes to the crunch the God we need is the God that Jesus presents to us. But we have to make that choice. We can choose to live our lives like lost and frightened chicks. We might have everything, yet at the end we have nothing. Or we can choose to be like the chicks who find their way back to the mother hen. It means we don’t go our own way, we don’t do what we want, we go God’s way and we do what God wants, and we find peace and we find security.

The choice we have to make is between our pictures of God. To accept Jesus’ picture of God means accepting our own failing and our own sin and our own lostness; it is to accept the need for a God who is much more than someone we think about on a Sunday morning. To accept Jesus’ picture of God means repenting, turning around, and starting again.

“How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing”. The people of Jerusalem were not willing to change their picture of God. What about us?

“’William suffers sometimes. His dark dreams overwhelm him, and when 1 first learned that about him I wanted him away from me. 1 wished to be elsewhere when he seemed ready to give into the darkness. There was nothing 1 could do for him, but I have learned, just as the boys and Peggy have learned, that it does not take much to comfort him.’

Henry attempted to convey by his silence that he would listen to her with sympathy for as long as she wished to speak.

‘Peggy was a very difficult child,’ Alice went on, ‘and night after night she would scream when she was in bed as the light was turned off. And because we thought that she would have to learn to sleep in the dark we left her screaming. We thought that there was no earthly reason for it, but there was. A nun had assured her that her not being a Catholic would mean eternal damnation and she believed her. That was why she screamed. We realized that if we had asked her at the beginning why she was afraid, she might have told us.’

Henry moved to put more logs on the fire and they sat in a silence broken only by the mild sea wind and the crackling of the burning wood”.

Have I said things that have caused people unnecessary pain or fear?

Would I have the courage to say what I feared?

Would I have the strength to cope with the fears of others?

What is untold?

Isn’t it odd, that if Cameron is right, the opponents of the early Church didn’t say the Christian stuff was all nonsense? “Sure, don’t be believing all that stuff, doesn’t he live down the street there with his wife and kids!”

Isn’t it odd, if Cameron is right, that Peter became the leader of the Jesus movement? Look at what happens when the Christian movement begins – the leader is not the one most people would have chosen. Peter was a big, coarse man, not the most obvious candidate to lead a religious movement in the learned and cosmopolitan environment of Jerusalem. There is no trace in the Gospels that he was a man of great subtlety or was a brilliant intellectual. Peter is not the man who would have been chosen by most recruitment agencies, but he is the man who announces that Jesus is risen from the dead. Isn’t it odd that Peter would die for something that he had made up?

And what about James? James, the brother of the Jesus appears not only in Scripture but in the writings of the Jewish historian, Josephus. Josephus lived from 38-100 A.D. and regarded Christianity with contempt, but here is how his book Antiquities records James, Ananus, the high priest, ‘assembled the sanhedrin of judges, and brought before them the brother of Jesus who was called Christ, whose name was James, and some others. And when he had formed an accusation against them as breakers of the law, he delivered them to be stoned’. James had been leader of the church in Jerusalem, coming to prominence as early as AD 36, he died in AD 62. The Christian Gospels show James as critical towards his brother. James was outside of Jesus’ circle of friends, he was known to be hostile to what Jesus was teaching, yet something happens which completely turns him around. Would James have changed the way he did if the claims about Jesus were not true, if he were living in comfort with Mary Magdalene?

What about Saul of Tarsus? A very serious, very devout Jew, he appears in the history of the church as the one who persecutes Christians. He is sent to put down the Christian movement, to wipe it out. He goes to Damascus on a mission to stop the Christians and he experiences a sudden change of heart. How can we explain his behaviour, except in terms of a very deep and very intense religious experience? Something happened to this opponent of Christ that turned him into the foremost supporter; strange behaviour if Jesus was alive and well in Jerusalem.

If Jesus was living a pleasant life as a family man, no-one would have believed any of the Christian story. It would have been discredited within a few years.

James Cameron’s claims are nothing new, similar stuff has been circulating for many years.

At the heart of Christianity there is faith, and a Jesuit friend once told me that faith is a gift. Faith is untroubled by Cameron because it looks far deeper for evidence. In the words of the old mission hall hymn,

He lives, He lives,
Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me
Along life’s narrow way.
He lives, He lives,
Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives?
He lives within my heart.