by James Webb
(Once again, I wrote a devotion for our church’s week of prayer. Once again I’m using it as my blog post for this week.)
“Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.” (John 17:24)
This morning the streets of Canterbury, in the early wind and rain, are almost deserted. It makes a nice change after the Christmas excess. Read more
Christmas is a bit overwhelming. There’s a lot going on; a lot of demand on my head-space. Normally, it’s busy enough in there, what with the daily news headlines and the pace of life. Read more
It’s another Christmas. I begin to suffer from festive deja vu around now. I walk through town, past the same pop-up stalls and window displays that I saw last year. I sit in front of the TV, wrapping presents, trying to remember if I did exactly this same thing last year, Read more
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?
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.
There are those who think it odd,
that you came as man and not as God.
A God would make things right
with shows of power, glory and might.
A God would shake the stage,
smiting evil-doers with holy rage.
A God, you see, will get things done.
A baby can’t. He needs his mum.
A baby is no use to us;
a baby screams and makes a fuss.
A baby doesn’t clear up mess,
solve problems, or bring progress.
But as for us, we’re not so hot,
we’re babies too, don’t pretend we’re not.
We need to scream, need a nappy,
we need our toys to make us happy.
We haven’t grown up in years,
so only a baby could share our tears.
We’re still learning how to crawl,
so I’m just thankful you came at all.
There’s no blog post this week.
Sometimes life is like that – a combination of business and distractions that make it hard to find inspiration. Sometimes, when it is most appropriate to reflect is also the hardest time to reflect. Read more
It’s been a hectic week. It’s not just been the build up to Christmas, though that doesn’t help, but Ruth has also had an operation which has put her out of action, so it’s been a one-man show round here for the past few days (she’s doing well, by the way). I’ve also been very conscious of the fact that I need to come up with a blog post. Read more
It’s a picturesque time of year, as Christmas summons frosted grass and offers a horizon spotted with naked trees. But it’s cold and wet, and that makes it less picturesque. In these conditions, the autumnal waste creates work. Every couple of weeks I have to pull manky, slimy leaves from the drain behind our kitchen or we get an overflow of yucky water outside. There’s no Yuletide cheer in that job, let me tell you. Read more
I like the build up to Christmas. I like the festive lights, nostalgic songs and the general atmosphere. I even enjoy the weather – the crisp, cold winter days. In Australia we had nine months of summer and three months of grim misery in a house that was designed to shed as much heat as possible. Plus, Christmas in the summer just felt wrong. Read more
