NSB News

Sabbatical Principles

Sometimes, we need to stop.

I think it’s a God-given principle – it’s right there in the Ten Commandments. God said that one day in seven should be given to Him and on that day, we shouldn’t work. In a similar way, the Law of Moses said that the land should be given a rest, one year in seven. It’s a principle. From time to time, we all need to stop.

I guess that’s why they call it a ‘Sabbatical Break’. I’ll be taking one right after Easter – not a whole year off in seven, actually just six weeks on this occasion and it’s been eight years since I last had one; but why worry about details? It’s the principle that counts. It’s time for me to stop, for just a little while, and take some time to think, recuperate and re-charge.

I’m looking forward to it. I’ll do some study at a Theological College in London (not too much!) and get some reading done but also, I’ll just stop. All the things I normally do – those are the things I won’t be doing. Hopefully, it’ll help me to see beyond the trivia of everyday life and get to grips with some of the important stuff.

In the meantime, the deacons and others have put together a programme of services etc. to keep everyone interested. Nothing stops just because I’m not here!

But that’s not happening until after Easter. How could I miss Easter? It’s the high point of the year, the climax of the Christian calendar, the focus of the story of salvation. I really appreciate Easter. Unlike Christmas, Easter has not been too commercialised. Apart from the inevitable chocolate eggs and the Bank Holiday making it into a time when people go away, it has remained a largely Christian festival.

That means that we can concentrate on what it’s all about: how Jesus died and rose again so that we can be forgiven and have eternal life. This year, we’re doing all the ‘usual’ things in church – Morning Prayers during Holy Week, ‘Last Supper’ service on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday service, Easter Communion, Breakfast and Service – but there is nothing ‘usual’ about Easter. New life is such an integral part of the Easter message that we can never presume to know what is going to happen.

God is the great Creator and so, when He brings us new life, it doesn’t have to be the same as what He’s done for anyone else; it can really be something totally new. This is Easter. I couldn’t miss all that!

So, while I’m away, I’ll be praying for God to do a new thing among us and please, pray for that He’ll show me new things too.

I’ll be thinking about you!

Liz

In the bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter,
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter long ago.

It's an extraordinary start to a Christmas carol: the whole of the first verse goes by and not a single mention of the Christmas story! There’s no reference to Jesus. Mary and Joseph don't get a look in. An entire verse is extravagantly lavished on setting the scene - and what a scene! It's winter in all its bleak extremity. Arguably, the only historically accurate parts of that verse are the last two words: 'long ago'.
And yet, it is a persistent favourite among church goers. It's not just because of the tune (lovely though it is – thank you to Gustav Holtz!). When Christina Rossetti wrote this 'Poem for Christmas' in 1872, she followed the instincts of an evangelist, by first relating to her audience and then making connections into the story that she wanted to get across. That first verse isn't wasted. We hear echoes of it floating through the icy air as we battle the British winter and we instinctively make connections to the baby, born into homelessness, experiencing the realities of this broken, sinful world, right from the start.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him,
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away,
When He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable-place sufficed
The Lord God almighty, Jesus Christ.

Having taken the time to set the scene, the poem is able to take us right into the incomprehensible heart of the matter. Suddenly, from seeming to be the most trivial of Christmas carols it reveals itself as one of the most profound. Here is God Himself, who cannot be contained by even heaven, being satisfied with a stable. Here is the promise of His eternal reign and a new heaven and earth before we’ve even grappled with the wonder of his earthly birth.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk,
And a mangerful of hay:
Enough for Him whom angels fall down before,
The ass and ox and camel which adore.

After the grand sweep of history and eternity; creation and re-creation, we’re brought back to earth again abruptly and reminded that what we’re talking about in all of this is actually a baby, a real, human baby. And yet, still God ‘whom angels fall down before’.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But his mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved with a kiss.

The real beauty of this poem is in the contrasts. Almighty God and yet a vulnerable baby; glorious armies of angels and the simplicity of a mother’s kiss; the wonder of heaven and the poverty of a manger in a stable. This is our God, our Saviour and our Lord. Only He bridges the gaps that we can hardly fathom and certainly not cross.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd,
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Here indeed is the evangelist at work! After relating to our own experiences and bringing us to heights of wonder at the God who gave His all for us, she challenges us to respond. This is not a story that can stand remote from human experience. God has burrowed His way into the heart of our own stories, right into the depth of our need, exactly where we are called to open the door and respond to the God who keeps on coming and keeps on giving.

Some of the old carols are worth a closer look at the words – let them bless you this Christmas.

Liz

‘You are a chosen people.. a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light.’
1 Peter 2:9

I think I’m beginning to get used to the cold weather. I can’t imagine ever really getting to like it; but I am becoming reconciled to the necessity for some cold in the seasons of the year. After all, last year’s cold snap did marvels for the garden, killing of the slugs and other pests and breaking up the soil. The harder thing to deal with in winter is the darkness.

Once the clocks changed, suddenly the days seemed to be so short. Often, in November, the daylight is so thin and misty that it’s hardly worth calling it ‘day’ at all. We almost might as well be in constant night.

We need the light. Without it, there would be no life on earth. No crops would grow and without food, there would be no animals. Without light, we would know of nothing beyond what we could feel or hear. Light is so essential for everything else that it was the first thing God created. It’s so necessary for our lives that it’s used in the Bible as a picture of God Himself and His presence with us.

We crave the light. Especially at this time of the year. There are some wonderful ways of spreading light into dark places. At the end of October (re-named ‘Hallelujah! Day’) we made some lanterns in the traditional way – out of pumpkins. They were great fun to make and they emphasised the source of the light that enlightens our lives – Jesus.

 


As we turn from our own way of life to accepting Jesus as Lord and Saviour, it’s as dramatic as turning on a light in a darkened room. Everything is affected. Everything is changed. Everything is better.

The best thing about dark nights is that I can see the stars. The best thing about short, dull days is that I can go home, put on the light and sit cosily by the fire. The best thing about the night time is that the morning is coming; and the best thing about living for Jesus is that His light – His truth and goodness and love – spreads through our lives like a continuous sunrise.

He has chosen us. We belong to Him. He has called us out of darkness into His wonderful light, so that we can declare His praises.

So let’s live in the light. Let’s share His love with others. Let’s show the world that we belong to the Light of the World.

With love, as ever,
Liz

What's in a Name?

Juliet stood upon her balcony and sighed. Her world had become very complicated. She was a member of a family (the Capulets) that was in the midst of a long and deeply held feud with another family (the Montagues). What made it so complicated – and dangerous – for her, was that she had just fallen in love with a member of that other family: Romeo. So she stood on that balcony and uttered her most famous words:
• O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
She wasn’t asking where Romeo was but why he was (that’s what ‘wherefore’ means). Why did he have to be who he was? Surely, his family name was only that – a name – and names can be changed. A name does not define the person. The next scene, she elaborates:
• 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; —
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet.
The logic is undeniable. You could call a rose a ‘sewage pot’ but it would still be a beautiful flower and it still would smell of rose water. What’s in a name? But Juliet had miscalculated. It was not about the name. He could have taken the name ‘Joe Smith’ but Romeo would still have been a member of the Montague family. The problem would not have gone away so easily.

Maybe it’s only a play: a tragic romance that has captured the hearts of people down through the centuries, but still, only a play, only a story. Nevertheless, Shakespeare touched a profound truth. Names do matter, when they describe the substance of a person. Using a different name does not alter the substance of the person, so names that are truthful are important.

The Bible knows this too. When Moses asked to know God’s name, he was asking to know God’s character. When Jesus re-named Simon and said he was thereafter Peter, He was describing a change of character. When God used one of the Ten Commandments to say that His name should not be taken in vain, He was talking about the truth of His reality and that He would not allow that truth to be handled frivolously or maliciously.

What’s in a name? Before Jesus was born, Joseph was instructed by the angel to ‘give Him the name Jesus, because He will save His people from their sins.’ The name was important because it reflected who He was. According to what language we use, we may pronounce that name in a variety of ways: Yeshua, Isa, Jesous, Jesus…The pronunciation doesn’t matter but the reverence and love we express as we say it does matter.

Never mind Shakespeare, let’s give the Bible the final word:
‘God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.’ (Philippians 2:9-11)

Liz

Ordinary Time

It’s amazing what you can find out when you’re not looking for it: I was flipping through the Anglican Prayer Book last week, and I realized that we’re in ‘Ordinary Time’ now!

 

Ordinary time is what the season is called when we’re not particularly celebrating or preparing to celebrate anything special. Actually, the majority of the year is designated as ‘ordinary’. It set me thinking. It seemed to be quite wrong to describe the Christian life as ‘ordinary’: Jesus came, He said, to bring us ‘life in all its fullness’ (John 10:10). That doesn’t sound very ordinary to me.

 

Then, as I was thinking further about it, I remembered a Chinese Christian called Watchman Nee. Over 50 years ago, he wrote a book called ‘The Normal Christian Life’. It was an extraordinary hit for a relatively unknown author. Before long, it became established as a ‘Christian Classic’. Nee contended that the life that we should, as Christians, consider to be normal is where Christ is our life. In this normality, there is no room for compromise. He is very ready to admit, right at the beginning at his argument, that the ‘normal’ Christian life is something very different from the life of the average Christian. So, if ‘normal’ is not like our experience of normality, perhaps ‘ordinary’ is not quite like what we would usually call ordinary.

 

Then I thought of C.S. Lewis. Just a few years earlier, he too had written a book that was to become a ‘Classic’ of Christian literature. In his case, it was not a surprise that the book sold well. It was the result of a clamour from the public to see in print what they had already heard from him on the radio. Putting those radio talks together into a book, he called it, ‘Mere Christianity’.

 

Lewis described the uniqueness of Christianity and the wonder of knowing the God who was beyond knowledge. He said that living out our Christianity comes down, in the end, to loving our neighbour and we can’t do that unless we learn to love God and that we cannot learn to love God except by learning to obey Him.

 

No compromise there either!

 

Then I looked again at the prayers for the day. It included some of my favourite lines from the Bible:

Fear not for I have redeemed you,

I have called you by name and you are Mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,

when you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned;

fear not for I have redeemed you.

 

So, it seems that ‘ordinary time’ should be characterized by what true Christians should consider merely normal. Our ordinary experience of life with Jesus is out of this world. We don’t need to apologise for that. We don’t need to be afraid of appearing too extreme. This is the way it should be – as our ordinary way of life.

 

Liz

May

May is a very special month. It’s the month when you can really say that winter is over. Even if there are a few chilly days, most are warm, some are even hot and all are long enough to cheer me up!

 May is the time for blossom on the trees: not just the ‘may’ itself but also cherry, almond and apple blossom and a whole host of others, as well as the gorse and even the laburnums are still in flower. In fact, there are flowers everywhere. It seems that wherever you look, suddenly there is colour where there wasn’t before. I think that’s part of why I love this time – the newness of everything. In June, there is at least as much colour, probably more, but it’s no longer a surprise and it’s no longer new.

 It’s also a wonderful time of the year for the church. May is nearly always when Pentecost falls, as it does this year. (It varies because it’s always 7 weeks after Easter and Easter varies because it follows the moon, in a rather complicated formula.) I like Pentecost!

 

Traditionally, it’s one of the highest days of the church calendar. There’s good reason for that. It’s the day that the Holy Spirit came, to be with all believers, to live within us and lend us some of His power. It’s a wonderful, dramatic and startling time, which the Christian church, in general, often regards as its birthday. It’s certainly the time when Christianity ‘took off’.

 

It used to be called ‘Whit Sunday’ because, traditionally, it was a favourite time for new believers to get baptized. They would dress in white for the ceremony and so it became known as ‘White Sunday’, then that degenerated slightly to ‘Whit’. It was a great reminder of the 3,000 or so people who were baptized on Pentecost Sunday, recorded in Acts chapter 2.

 I don’t know whether that was the reason why I was baptized that day, 41 years ago. Maybe it was just a convenient time. I can’t remember; but I’m glad it happened then. It was a doubly special day. I was baptized along with 3 other people. I was the first, then, as each of the others entered the water and I heard those words: ‘...I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit’… splash! it was as if I was reliving my own baptism and my own commitment to Jesus all over again.

 So May is a special time for me.

 The sunshine and the flowers are a gift from God that cheer me up. The annual celebration of Pentecost is a reminder of the great gift that God continues to give us – Himself – and I love remembering the anniversary of my baptism. None of those celebrations and reminders though, is worth anything without the here and now reality of being at one with God, through Jesus, by the Holy Spirit, the same yesterday, today and forever!

 All praise to Him, my Creator, my Saviour and my Lord!

 Liz

Spring is Sprung!

Spring is sprung,

the grass is ris,

I wonder where

the birdies is!

 

I don’t know where that silly little ditty originated. It’s a memory that comes out of my childhood and it came swimming back as I looked out on the early Spring sunshine. Sure enough, the grass is looking tatty, definitely in need of a trim, but the birds are in short supply.

 

We’ve always liked birds. On holiday, the bird books get packed and we like to identify as many as we can while we wander in the countryside. We’re not experts and we don’t take it to extremes. I’ve never spent any time in a ‘hide’ and I’m useless at telling the different songs apart. Nevertheless, we are a family of bird-lovers.

 

Until now, we have never put out any encouragement to get the birds into the garden because we are also cat lovers and the two definitely do not mix! Our cat, Sarah, is now old and slow, however. In fact, she’s never been very good at catching birds: the starlings bully her! So, we’ve decided that it’s now safe to do a little bit of bird encouragement. We’ve installed a bird bath and a feeder. The bird bath appeared at Christmas and still, I have seen not a single bird make use of it. The feeder has been in place for a month and is still full. I guess it will take a little longer for the birds to learn to trust our garden.

 

I’ve often thought that we are like sheep. It’s not an original thought: consider all those biblical references to how we ‘all, like sheep, have gone astray’ and how Jesus said that He was the Good Shepherd and we were the sheep in His flock and so on. Now, I’m starting to appreciate some of the biblical references to birds too. Jesus said that we should learn from the birds. He said that sparrows sell for 2 a penny and yet our Heavenly Father knows about them and cares for them and not a single one falls to the ground without Him knowing. And, said Jesus, we are worth much more than a sparrow, so we should stop worrying and learn to trust our Heavenly Father’s loving care.

 

I want to add a parable of my own. Just as we have set up our garden with the birds in mind, giving them food and drink and a place to play and to live, (We even have a bird box for the tits.) so God has provided for all our needs. It’s all there, waiting for us. He offers us guidance through every part of life, He offers us strength to persevere and joy to keep us buoyed up. He gives us insight into His best ways and the love that we need to live in His way. It’s all available.

 

And yet, we mostly act like the stupid birds that are still avoiding our garden. We just won’t even try it out! We don’t trust our Heavenly Father to provide. We trust our own, flawed, instincts and efforts more. In reality, we don’t really believe that He can and will provide all that we need. We think that we have to work it out for ourselves and then, if we’re lucky, God might come up with a few goodies as optional extras.

 

Our Heavenly Father loves us and He knows about everything we need. If we are to discover the glories of His Kingdom, we need to come and try His provision. Trust Him! He’s still looking down and saying, ‘I wonder where the birdies is.’

 

Liz

TO SNOW OR NOT TO SNOW

So, the new year has begun.

 

The transition from 2009 to 2010 has been largely overshadowed by the weather. It’s been snow, snow and more snow. Every journey: can we get through the snow? Work: will the snow let me get my work done? School: is it closed for the snow? Shopping: can we do without until the snow clears? Every conversation: snow.

 

Now, I like snow. Really, I’m a fan. I’m known for hating the cold but this is different. This is pretty! I love the way that it makes everything look clean. Seeing the branches all picked out in white just makes me stare and smile. I deliberately walk over new snow (but not right across the middle of a big, clear patch because that would spoil the beauty) so that I can hear the ‘crunch’ under my feet. I’ve wondered about how many crystals of ice are crushed every time I take a step. I’ve squandered precious brain space on trying to work out how much water is being held in place in the ice on our road. All in all, snow definitely gets into the book of favourite things but still…

 

..isn’t there more to life than snow?

 

When we allow such peripheral things to fill our conversations and rule and lives, is it because there is little of real importance to drive us? That thought made me stop and consider. I was thinking about my focus for this year. I know that the real focus cannot be to find of way of simply carrying on, whatever the weather. I want to find God’s focus for this year and for my life.

 

So I turned to the place where I always turn when I want direction – the Bible. I noticed the refreshingly infrequent mention of snow (and the amusingly frequent references to sheep). I noticed how often the words lifted my spirit and sent it soaring into the presence of God Almighty, with that unfamiliar sensation of awe growing within me. I noticed how beautifully and cleverly it intertwines stories with instruction. I noticed how real it is, touching the human experience and recognising our frailty.

 

I read a small passage that I had read dozens, maybe even hundreds, of times before and saw something new, coming out of the words like a thunderbolt. No other book does that.

 

Much though I like snow, it’s beginning to bore me as a conversation topic. I don’t think I could really grow bored of talking about God’s word though. I realised that I didn’t need to discover a focus for this year. My priority was already in place: I just needed to recognise it. God will tell me what to do, often by using the Bible, then I need to do it. Simple really!

 

Read the Bible and do what it says.

 

I guess that wraps it up really.

 

Snow or no snow, it makes no real difference (though I still think it’s very pretty) but without God’s word to direct me, I’d be well and truly lost.

 

Have a wonderful 2010! I’m looking forward to the rest of it and I hope you are too.

 

Liz

Christmas Eve 2009

The Reporter’s Notebook

This isn’t my story. I’m just the one who listens and reports back. It’s my task to interrupt the joys and sorrows of life and discover the reasons beneath them. Sometimes it’s difficult and I feel embarrassed to be the one who’s butting in where I was not invited but sometimes, like this time, it’s right because the story just needs to be told.

Everyone was sad. It looked like a wake after a particularly terrible death. She looked like the central figure so I maneuvered until I was next to her. I didn’t say much. Really, I just let her know that I was listening. And she started to talk. It didn’t matter that we’d never met before. She had to tell her tale. I think  it helped her make some sense of it all.

So this is her story, in her words. I don’t understand it all. I just tell you what she said:

It’s alright. I always knew it would come to this, or something like it. They all tried to tell me it couldn’t be but I’ve always known. Still, it was terrible in the end.

It was terrible at the beginning too. I didn’t know that God did things like that. I could have been stoned, you know. My mother told me that, over and over, as if I didn’t know. I don’t think she ever forgave me. But it was God’s way, His choice. How could I have said, ‘No’? God’s ways are not our ways. In the end, I didn’t listen to the gossips anymore. Anyway, Joseph stood by me, despite all that his mother said. Dear Joseph. He loved him too. He would have hated all this.

I remember the day he came back. A whole week it had been since we’d talked and I’d begun to think that was it: that I’d have to do it all alone – God would have helped me but I didn’t want to be alone. It was a bright sunny morning. I remember the birds sang early that day. He came to the back of the house and just sat on the big rock there until I saw him.

I sat down beside him and he told me about his dreams in the night before. He said an angel had come and now he knew it was true. He said we’d work it out together and we promised then, right there on the rock outside mother’s house, to stay together and serve God. And we did. It was alright after that.

When he said we had to go to

Bethlehem

, I didn’t mind. He was worried sick. He felt responsible and everything was going wrong. I was just glad to be away from all the snooty do-gooders back home. Yes, it was hard. I never planned on a birth like that. I wanted a nice place to put him in, not that horrid lean-to with the stink of goats all around.

That was nothing compared to how it all finished up though. He got used to having nowhere to call home, poor love. So, maybe it was a fitting start to life: a goat’s food tray for a bed and some leaky palm leaves for a roof. Yes, God’s ways are not our ways.

I’ll always remember those shepherds. They were lovely and so excited. I understood. I know what it’s like to hear from an angel.

There were no angels yesterday. Just darkness, like the weight of the whole world’s sin was bearing down on him… I suppose it was.

Bethlehem

to

Jerusalem

isn’t such a very long way. 33 years isn’t such a very long life. A feeding tray to a cross isn’t much of a step up. But heaven to earth… now that’s a big step! God’s ways are not our ways. Maybe there’ll be angels tomorrow.

Coming Home

It was dark. There was dampness hanging in the air, as it so often does at this time of year. The cars threw up a fine spray of water as they passed, pushing me back from the edge of pavement. On my other side, the hedges were covered in beautiful cobwebs – strings of pearls, hanging in gorgeous, miniature profusion. So I clung to the middle of the pavement and mentally measured the distance to the next lamp-post and its attendant pool of light.

 

I’d come this far, so I could make it to the next pool of light. Twenty paces…fifteen... ten… nearly there… the next lamp-post. Was the next one the same distance? Probably. So I could get there too. It kept the cold and dark at bay to imagine that I was walking through a desert, gasping for water. The pool of light around each lamp-post was an oasis; the distance between each of them was enormous. In any case, that distance seemed, to me, to be enormous in real life. I couldn’t be totally sure of the way. I couldn’t remember exactly how far it was. I may as well have been negotiating a terrible desert.

 

The other pedestrians had mostly thinned out by now. I was effectively alone – alone and nine years old. Walking home from school each day was a nightmare for me that autumn. We’d just moved house, within the same town, so that I was attending the same school as before but the journey home was now different. It was longer and it took me a very long time to remember the way, so that I was confident to walk it alone.

 

The lamp-post game was one way of dealing with the fear.

 

The journey was worth it though. When I got home, I would find my mother waiting for me. The pot of tea would be just made. The fire would be on in the sitting room. We’d draw up two chairs close to the fire, pour out the tea and choose some biscuits. Then we’d sit there, just the two of us, drink our tea, let and fire warm our toes and talk about our day.

 

The journey was definitely worth it.

 

Some days, I would battle my way home but my faith would be failing. I remember pushing through the rain, one particularly chilly November afternoon, wondering whether she really would be there again. After all, she was there, waiting, yesterday. Perhaps she would be too busy today. Perhaps the house would be cold today. Perhaps there would be no hot tea waiting for me. Perhaps the journey wouldn’t really be worth it… Then I turned the corner and the light was on, I opened the door and the warmth wrapped around my stinging cheeks, I looked into the sitting room and my mother was there: ‘You walked slow today,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

 

Jesus talked a lot about coming home. He told stories about it. He explained the reality of our welcome. He told us not to be upset about the journey.

 

Every time I run back to my Father’s arms, I know that welcome again. I don’t care so much for feasting around a fatted calf: for me, it feels more like the warmth of a friendly fire and a cup of tea. There are times that I wonder whether He’ll still be happy to take me in again: times when I push through the dark days and my faith feels faint. Then, every time, His welcome is there again. Every time.

 

Liz