Month: December 2018

James’s Blog: God in a Box.

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James’s Blog: God in a Box.

I’ve been making my way through the account of Jesus’ life found in Mark’s Gospel recently, and though serendipity I ended up reading the Passion narrative during the week leading up to Christmas. The Resurrection arrived on Christmas day itself.

On Christmas Eve I was struck by the comparison offered in Mark 15:42-47. The season demanded that we remember the Christ being placed gently in the manger by his parents, and there I was reading about how another Joseph placed him gently in a tomb carved from rock.

Neither could hold him of course. He grew too big for the manger, and grew too alive for the tomb.

Such is the way of Jesus. He will not be ‘placed’ anywhere for too long. He cannot be held, trapped, nailed down, cornered, pinned, ensnared, bound, boxed in or bottled up. You may as well try and glue the sea in place. We may be more comfortable if he stays in the manger, the gentle spirit of Christmas goodwill, but he will refuse your kind offer of accommodation, and wander off somewhere, life and mayhem following in his wake. Despite all the trouble he’s caused me at times, he is without a doubt my favourite person ever. And despite all the trouble I’ve caused him, he seems quite fond of me too.

So when the Messiah who won’t sit still sticks his head through your doorway and says, “I’m going out for a while. Fancy a walk?” what can you do? What can you say to that kind of invitation?

James’s Blog: Another Advent Poem.

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James’s Blog: Another Advent Poem.

There were no lights, no holly and the ivy;

no red-breasted robin to sing in festivity;

no cheer of any sort to warm the cold winters;

no berry red Santa bringing sacks of presents,

only blood red legionaries, bringing Pax (with blades)

and the hungry hoping that it wouldn’t snow.

 

And after all no ear did hear his coming,

because we only listen to music that we like,

and no eye did witness the raging storm

of heaven contained within tiny feet and hands,

for sometimes the first line of a poem

is best when it can only be whispered.

 

So into this absent-minded world of winter

(that tells itself lies to keep the dark dreams at bay),

came a mustard seed shaped Christmas,

that didn’t end with an angel or a star on a tree,

and the hat that was worn for this main event

you wouldn’t get from pulling any crackers.

 

And into this absent-minded world of winter

(that tells itself lies to keep the dark dreams at bay),

how silently, how silently,

the wondrous truth bomb is dropped,

and God imparts to human hearts

the blessings of dark dreams stopped.

James’s Blog: Moving Furniture.

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James’s Blog: Moving Furniture.

When you move to a new house, you have to decide where to put the heavy furniture. The goal is to put it somewhere good, so that you won’t have to move it again. If you play your cards right, you’ll end up with a nice, eye-catching feature than defines the room and serves a purpose. Over the years that piece of furniture will become a comforting, familiar presence, perhaps soothing you as soon as you enter the room. Get it right, and you won’t even want to move it.

But eventually it will need to be moved, and then you’ll discover the delights of what lurks behind a heavy piece of furniture that has lain undisturbed for many, many months. Cobwebs and dust, yes, but also missing toys or coins, or carelessly discarded raisins and bits of dried, shriveled orange peel. There’s almost no limit to the surprises waiting for you behind an immobile piece of furniture.

Now where’s the heavy furniture in my soul? What are the things that I’ve plonked down and left untouched for years, either because they look nice where they are or because I just can’t be bothered to move them? Maybe it’s something that’s actually impractical or even dangerous, but its constant presence has become comfortingly familiar to me. Is it time to shift something, either to get the vacuum cleaner in there, or just in case I happen to find some sparkling treasure that I thought was lost forever many years ago?

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