Reflections at this time of mourning

Gosh, it's been an age since I blogged! But I wanted to do so today, mainly because some people at church this morning asked if I could share again some of the quotes that were in my sermon, and some who weren't there asked for the text. So if you're not from St. Bart's you're obviously more than welcome to read on, but this is simply the text from my sermon, preached at both 9am and 11am today. It's worth saying that though it ends fairly abruptly when written, it was followed up with space and time for prayer.

What an extraordinary few days it has been. What extraordinary times we are living in. We're barely out of our covid lockdown. There's was in Europe for the first time in decades. Yet another Prime Minister has just taken charge of the country. We're on the cusp of an enormous cost of living crisis. And then on Thursday, in the end quite suddenly, in spite of her advanced age, Queen Elizabeth II sadly died.

That moment will become one of 'those' moments - those 'where were you when' moments. Some of you will remember when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, or Martin Luther King. Some of you will remember when Diana Princess of Wales died, or when the 9/11 attacks took place (which in fact was 21 years ago to this very day).

I was on holiday on Thursday, and I put on the BBC news because I could tell from social media that something was different, and not right. And so I remember the exact moment when Huw Edwards made the announcement - in fact I knew a moment before that, because I could literally see it in his face. I came home from my holiday early in order to support us here at church as we opened up to our community as a focal point for expressing grief and sorrow.

Like me, you'll remember forever where you were when you heard the news, and you'll remember too how you felt, how you reacted. Some people of course, are not big fans of the Royal Family - for her unstinting service and tireless work. For most of us, she's the only monarch we've ever known.

There are many weighty and worthy things that we can say about the Queen, and rightly so. But personally my very favourite story about her isn't especially weighty or worthy, it's just very funny! During the Platinum Jubilee celebrations, Richard Griffin, a former Royal Personal Protection Officer, told this story:

One day at Balmoral, he and the Queen were out for a walk, and they met two American hikers coming the other way. The Americans didn't recognise the Queen, but started up a conversation about their holiday, and the different places they'd visited. One of them asked the Queen where she lived. She replied that she lived in London, but that she had a holiday home nearby which she visited often. The tourists said well if she'd spent so much time in that area, surely she must have met the Queen. Apparently the Queen didn't miss a beat. She turned to her Protection Officer and replied "well I haven't, but he has." The tourists asked him what the Queen was life. He replied "well she can be very cantankerous, but she's got a lovely sense of humour." They all took selfies together, and the Queen walked away chuckling to herself about the reaction they would get when they showed off those selfied back home and realised who she was.

And for us who are Christians, we have lost not just our Queen, but a sister in Christ. I've heard her described as "the nation's greatest evangelist" because of the warm and easy way in which she spoke of her own personal faith - and of course she had the advantage that most evangelists can only dream of, in that she was able to speak into most people's living rooms for one day every year!

Here, for example, are just a few of the faith highlights from the Queen's Christmas speeches:

2000: To many of us are beliefs are of fundamental importance. For me the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life. I, like so many of you, have drawn great comfort in difficult times from Christ's words and example.

2002: I know just how much I rely on my faith to guide me through the good times and the bad. Each day is a new beginning. I know that the only way to live my life is to try to do what is right, to take the long view, to give of my best in all that the day brings, and to put my trust in God.. I draw strength from the message of hope in the Christian gospel.

2013: For Christians, as for all people of faith, reflection, meditation and prayer help us to renew ourselves in God's love, as we strive daily to become better people. The Christmas message shows us that this love is for everyone. There is no one beyond its reach.

2017: Jesus Christ lived obscurely most of his life and never travelled far. He was maligned and rejected by many, though he had done no wrong. And yet, billions of people now follow his teaching and find in him the guiding light for their lives. I am one of them because Christ's example helps me see the value of doing small things with great love.

And most recently, in 2021: It is [the] simplicity of the Christmas story that makes it so universally appealing: simple happenings that formed the starting point of the life of Jesus, a man whose teachings have been handed down from generation to generation, and have been the bedrock of my faith.

I don't know, of course, what elements the Queen's funeral will involve - although I'm quite sure that she will have been clear about her wishes, and made plans to reflect her own preferences, as well as her deep faith. But I wonder whether you remember Prince Philip's funeral, just seventeen months ago? I'm sure that you do, because of course it took place at the height of the lockdown, and there was that moving and iconic image of the Queen sitting along, following the government's rules of the time, and therefore facing that moment of grief without the physical comfort of her family.

At that funeral, at the Prince's request, something happened which is unusual at a funeral - it is something we generally associate with Remembrance Sunday. But it was an explicit request of the Prince, for a very good reason. He asked that the Last Post and the Reveille be played. In the military, the Last Post is played at the end of a working day (and so sometimes is associated also with the finality of death), but the Reveille is played to awaken soldiers for the start of a new day. Prince Philip deliberately chose those two pieces to signify the end of one day, and the start of another - his entering into his new, eternal life.

You may also have watched the very moving first speech to the nation from King Charles, on Friday evening. I was particularly struck when he said of his mother "as you begin your last great journey." IT reminded me of a very beautiful quote from the Last Battle, the last book in C. S. Lewis's Narnia series. I have this quote on the wall in my study, as a reminder, quite simply, of what all this is for, what it's about, where it's heading, why it matters. At the end of the book, Aslan, the great Lion who represents Jesus, is talking to Lucy, one of the four children. She hasn't yet realised it, but their earthly adventures are over, and only eternity lies ahead. This is how he explains it to her:

"The term is over: the holidays have begin. The dream is ended: this is the morning. And as he spoke he no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after,. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."

This, indeed, was the hope in which the Queen lived and died. As we reflect on her death many of us will also reflect on the deaths of those closer to us, those in our own lives whom we have loved, but see no longer. For many, we will rejoice too that they are now living within that Great Story.

I saw someone had written the other day that the National Anthem is one of the most often-prayed prayers, but it is also surely one of the most comprehensively clearly answered prayers. For seventy years, people have sung "God save the Queen" - and he has surely saved her. We now turn to singing "God save the Kind" and we make that our prayer.

Our two Bible readings today both give us words of hope and comfort as we remember the Queen, and our own loves ones, and also as we navigate our journey through the struggles and complexities of the world at this current time.

Firstly, we heard Paul writing to the church in Corinth, and our reading began with six words which I imagine we could all do with holding onto tightly at the moment: "Therefore we do not lose heart."

What has gone before the 'therefore'? Well, Paul has been reminding the Corinthians of the treasure which is theirs in Christ, albeit held within fragile jars of clay. He has reminded them that they are "hard pressed but not crushed, perplexed but not despairing, persecuted but not abandoned, struck down but not destroyed." He has reminded them that "the one who raised Christ Jesus from the dead," God himself, "will also raise us with Jesus."

And so it is that in the light of these truths, Paul can say therefore - "therefore we do not lose heart." And then Paul makes this extraordinary statement, weighty with truth and promise, but not necessarily easy to absorb. He says that "our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an earthly glory that far outweighs them all."

This isn't easy to comprehend, and nor should it be. Because the truth is that life is often very hard. And that's rarely been more true for our nation and our world than it is at the moment. We struggle, we griev, we face pain and trials and suffering and sorrow. We want to ask Paul what on earth he's going on about, and how dare he call our troubles "light and momentary." And if Paul (or indeed Jesus) had led an easy life then maybe that would be a fair criticism. But Paul was beaten, mocked, shipwrecked and imprisoned for his faith. Jesus died in agony on a cross. They knew troubles. The Queen knew troubles too. In her own life she knew family breakdown, grief and tragedy.

And yet even so, in spite of all this, Paul is so confident that the life we are promised with God beyond this life will be so beautiful, so wonderful, so beyond our imagination or understanding, that he can refer to the agonies of this life as "light and momentary troubles" in comparison. He isn't saying that the things we face on earth are trivial or unimportant. Rather he's saying that eternity will be more glorious than we could ever dream of.

Fix your eyes, then, he tells us, not on what's around you in this world, but fix your eyes on the future, on what's eternal, on what's promised.

And then briefly, and secondly, we heard John with one of the seven well known 'I Am' statements of Jesus. Here Jesus refers to himself as "the bread of life" and he makes an extraordinary promise - that anyone who loves and follows him will never be hungry or thirsty. We know that he can't be referring to physical hunger or thirst, because we know that sadly there are many followers of Jesus around the world, and even quite close to home, who do suffer real bodily hunger and thirst, and so therefore he must be talking in a spiritual sense.

This is the promise made to all who believe - and the beauty of this promise, this invitation, is that it's made equally to everyone. Whether you're an ordinary person going about your everyday life in Roby, or whether you're the Queen of England, Jesus says the same words to you: "my Father's will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day."

The Queen believed and accepted that eternal life. It is offered freely and fully to each one of us, today and every day.

Happy ending?

I've been pondering something for a while (that's usually a bad sign tbh...) It's something quite subtle, which you almost might not notice. The problem is, I have noticed, and now I can't stop. Writing this blog runs the risk of you, who may never have noticed before, now also noticing. I'm sorry. Read on at your own risk...!

Here it is. I've noticed a tendency in certain Christian testimonies, for the 'and then they lived happily ever after' part to include "and now they're married with 18 beautiful children" or similar.

Here's an example that I read today, in a magazine I really enjoy, which prompted me to finally write something (even though I've been thinking about doing so for ages). I'm not having a go here at the magazine, or the author, and it was a good article. It just happened to provide an example of this thing.

So in the article there's a story about a guy named Pedro (I would change his name, but the chances are they already changed it when they did the article, so there's no need to make things even more complicated!) Pedro was homeless and an alcoholic, until he found love and care and support and a Christian community which helped him to heal (that bits all great by the way, obvs!).

Here's the thing though. This is how the 'after' part of Pedro's story is described: "Pedro... found a community to support his journey towards sobriety and ultimately a faith of his own. Now, eight years sober, he helps at AA sessions, has married, and regularly cooks for his church's Alpha course."

It happens so often. Not long ago at a women's event I heard something similar: "Lucy (I am making that name up, I can't for the life of me remember what they called her!) has had her life turned around. She was in trouble because of X, Y and Z and her life was awful. And then she met Person A from Charity B and they helped her to sort her life out. Now she's doing this, this and this amazing thing, and she's married with a baby."

I've read it in books, and on social media. I've heard it in talks. OK, maybe I notice this stuff more than someone married would do, but nonetheless it is still actually happening!

Now, don't misunderstand me, I'm not just being a grump (I really hope I'm not anyway!) Obviously, if this person has happened to get married in this period of their life when things are going well, then that's part of their story, and of course it's right for them to tell that if they want to.

The issue for me is when we see the 'marriage and kids' thing as part of the happy ending. This person's life is better now BECAUSE they are married, BECAUSE they have children.

I'm all for celebrating the good stuff. I love to hear testimonies of God at work in people's lives, how their circumstances and their situation have been totally transformed. It's brilliant. But I think there's something about what 'we' (society? church?) see as typical traits of the 'before' and 'after' parts of the story.

BEFORE (BAD STUFF): homelessness, drugs, alcohol, addiction, crime...
AFTER (GOOD STUFF): marriage, kids (and what? 3 bedroom semi? volvo?)

I'm being facetious, of course, but actually the only thing that's got any business being in the AFTER column is: AND NOW THEY KNOW JESUS. (Yes, I know, no longer being addicted to stuff and having a roof over your head are pretty good too, but you get my point).

If I'm being hyper-sensitive about this, no doubt you'll all tell me. If I've made you aware of something that's now going to annoy you when it didn't before, I'm sorry. But if this is a Thing, and if you're single or don't have kids or whatever, and you've noticed it as a Thing too, let me know.

I guess what I'm saying is it feels weird when my life (which I'm happy with, and really quite like, at least the vast majority of the time) is seen as not good enough to feature in the AFTER column. Like when my life is some sort of pre-Good-Morning-makeover-style-reveal.

We must be careful about saying, or thinking, or even implying, that marriage and kids should be part of the 'happy ending' story (although they're great and brilliant when they happen well) - because if they're part of the 'happy ending' story, then where does that leave those of us who don't have them, and possibly never will?

My life is full of Jesus and friends and laughter and kids and chocolate and all sorts of good things. But it doesn't and never will involve marriage, or children of my own. And I'm ok with my own version of the happy ending.

Here's a picture of a sunset, just because they're one of my favourite things, and a pretty good 'ending' for each day, I'd say.

Going solo

Tonight's been an interesting evening. I've been at Liverpool Cathedral, for my first ever live performance of Handel's Messiah. I've wanted to hear it for as long as I can remember, but for various reasons have never managed to do so until tonight. It was spectacular! It featured the combined choirs of the 2 Cathedrals, plus the Chamber Orchestra. I knew much of the music already, of course, but hearing it live was as wonderful as I'd hoped it would be - and what better place for my first time than our fabulous Cathedral, one of my favourite buildings in the world, and a venue with more than enough drama, attitude and acoustics to carry it off.

As well as enjoying the fabulous music and singing, I was doing a lot of reflecting this evening. For those of us who are single, the 'going to events on your own' dilemma is one which is never fully resolved. I imagine there are some super-confident and self-assured people who will cheerfully arrive at events by themselves, chat breezily all evening to perfect strangers, and then happily make their way home alone again afterwards. I don't, however, imagine there are many!

I also imagine there are some people who never go to events alone, and consequently, don't go to many events. They're nervous about arriving alone, having no one to talk to, feeling awkward, coming home alone again... It can feel very hard.

I've wanted to hear Messiah for a really long time. Last year, it was on at the Philharmonic. I was excited, and emailed lots of friends to see if they were interested in coming along. Some couldn't make it, some weren't interested, some took forever to reply! Eventually one friend said she'd like to come, and I set about booking tickets - but I'd left it too late, and it was sold out. This year, quite a while ago, I saw that it was going to be on at the Cathedral. Determined not to miss out again, I booked a ticket. Just one. I didn't even bother to invite friends! I wanted to go, and I was going to go!

Fast forward to today, and it's been a heck of a day (and a heck of a week!). I (still!) haven't finished preparing for the all age service tomorrow. I'm getting a cold (I think - although for most of the past week I've felt like I'm getting a cold and then I haven't). I had a flat tyre & had to spend far too much money on a new one. In some ways all I wanted to do was stay in. But I was excited about going to Messiah, and so I went. There was that familiar pang about going by myself - that sort of jollying along that you have to do to persuade yourself to get moving. Of course, it was a fabulous evening, and I'm more than glad that I went.

But. You see, it's not easy to do the going solo thing.

Don't get me wrong, there are great parts about it. I decided I wanted to go, I booked my ticket, and I went. I didn't have to check what anyone else wanted to do. There's something fun and freeing about being able to please myself on occasion. I chose when to arrive, where to sit, when to leave. I could chat to the people either side of me if I wanted to (with the exciting dual possibilities of meeting a lovely, fun new person - or being labelled a crazy, eccentric nutcase).

But there are also rubbish parts about it. I didn't have anyone to look forward to it with beforehand. I didn't have anyone to offer to drive and do the stressful last minute squeeze-in-a-tiny-space parking for me. I didn't have anyone to save me a seat while I went to the loo. I didn't have anyone to make small talk with and gossip about why the cassocks of the girls on the right were 5 times brighter than those of the girls on the left. I didn't have anyone to talk to in the interval so of course I messed about with my phone and pretended to be popular. I didn't have anyone to whisper to about how fabulous it all was. I didn't have anyone to debrief with afterwards (I know it was only a concert, but I'm an extrovert, I have to talk!). I didn't have anyone to drive home with. I didn't have anyone to make me a cup of tea when I got in.

Gosh that's a list of moans! Except, I don't mean them to be moans. They're just facts. Loads of you will understand them, if you're single yourself, or ever have been - or perhaps even if you're unhappily partnered. It is what it is, I realise that. Good bits and bad bits. Fun times and tough times. Life, basically!

This isn't a moan, or a rant, or a sympathy plea. It's just a reflection. My mind wandered to it as I drove home. I'd love to know if it resonates with you. Basically I'm writing a diary entry and sharing it with the world...!

I'm glad I went. Messiah was fabulous. An item on my bucket list is ticked off. And I got to come home and finish the box of chocolates a friend gave me the other day, with no one else fighting me for the orange creme - so it's not all bad!