Joining the Song - Advent 4

Ice cream angels - made by young people in Llangollen Methodist Church

The angels hover, they bend - their peaceful wings unfurled, and they sing. They sing a song of promise and of peace. They sing a song of hope. They sing a love song.

Will we listen? Will we respond to the challenge to unfurl our wings and work for justice and peace? 

The world is weary, sad and lonely for so many.

In the news this week we have heard of cruelty inflicted on a child and the manipulation and abuse of a woman. We have heard of uncertainty in Syria and continuing warfare and violence in so many places. We have been reminded of the plight of the homeless on cold winter streets and the hunger of children in our wealthy nations.

Will we hear the Angels’ song and unfurl our wings for action?

The final verse of “It came upon the midnight clear” is full of hope. The hope that the promises of God, proclaimed by the prophets will be fulfilled and we will know the time foretold,

When the new heaven and earth shall own,

The Prince of Peace their king,

And all the world repeat the song

Which now the angels sing.

This vision of a world united in singing a song of peace, hope and love seems far distant, and in many ways it is. 

However, our hope is not only for a distant utopia. Our hope is grounded in the present certainty that God is with us, that Jesus, the Prince of Peace is Emmanuel (God with us).

As we light the final candle in our Advent ring and then light the centre candle on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we proclaim that the promise has been fulfilled and we rejoice.

Making that promise the reality for the whole world is God’s work in which we are called to take part.

Will we unfurl our wings?

Nativity scene from Bolivia

Beneath Angel Wings - Advent 3

Just two hours ago we closed the church doors at the end of the first day of the crib festival. During the day visitors had come to the church to see the display of about 30 crib scenes and listen to music accompanying images of nativity scenes from around the world. Children had coloured, done puzzles and played with figures from child-friendly sets. Mince pies, cakes and biscuits had been eaten and mugs of tea and coffee had been drunk. Most importantly, people had been welcomed and conversations were shared, sometimes going deep.

One comment that I heard several times from people of all ages was, “It is so peaceful.” In the midst of all the seasonal busyness, the church was a welcome haven. People sat and reflected quietly, wrote prayers for the prayer tree, rested, and found refreshment. The noise was hushed.

The third verse of “It came upon the midnight clear” ends with the words:

O hush the noise, ye men of strife,

and hear the angels sing.

The hymn was written by Edmund H. Sears in 1849. He was an American pastor. He wrote from the perspective of personal melancholy following a time of illness, and shortly after war with Mexico. When he wrote there was news of revolution in Europe.  Sears focuses on the song of the angels in the poem. It is a song promising peace, but the peace seems not to have come. Humans at war do not hear the love song of the angels. As we read or hear the news today we may well feel that peace is a distant dream. Two thousand years of wrong have rolled beneath the angels’ song, beneath those unfurled wings of peace which call us to respond.

In Llangollen Methodist Church we have been offering a space and time to hush the noise and hear the song of the angels. For some of those who came this was a special place, a place of welcome and a place of peace.

The poet’s prayer is “hush the noise” and “hear the angels sing.”

This is also my prayer as we wait beneath angel wings.

Ruth M Gee 241214

With Peaceful Wings Unfurled - Advent 2

When I was serving as President of the Methodist Conference, The Vice-President and I led a service for the beginning of the year in Methodist Church House, London. Most of those present were members of the Connexional Team who work so hard to support the work of the Methodist Church. I had chosen to use the image of a butterfly to illustrate change, hope and fulfilment of potential. One of the team, sourced a video clip of a butterfly emerging from the cocoon. We watched as the bedraggled creature was warmed by the sun and then spread its wings and flew.

My daughter introduced me to the writing of Angela Carter. In “Nights at the Circus” Angela Carter describes a young woman who conceals beneath her clothing the wings budding from her shoulder blades. They are a cause of discomfort until one night she is encouraged to jump from the safety of the roof and spread her wings. She discovers the freedom and joy of flight, a symbol of her freedom to be herself.

The wings of a bird or butterfly may look beautiful when furled but they only fulfil their purpose when they are unfurled and the bird or butterfly flies.

The second verse of the carol “It came upon the midnight clear” from which the Methodist Church in Britain has taken the theme of the Christmas campaign this year, begins with the words:

Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled

As I read or sing these words I imagine the angels, those awesome and glorious messengers of God, unfurling their wings over “all the weary world.” They bend again as they hover and sing their song of peace, over the sad and lonely plains and the babel sounds of those who, so often, do not hear the angels sing.

The angels hover but, even when hovering, wings are not passive. Hovering wings move very fast. You can see this on the clip of a hummingbird hovering which you will find here. The peaceful wings of the angels are not still as they hover over the sad and lowly plains, they are working hard. Peace-making is hard work. If we really want to see peace on earth, it is not enough to be still and to wait for it, we have to work for it. We have to challenge injustice, we have to give our time, we have to care actively, and we may well face opposition.

The angels of Christmas have unfurled their peaceful wings and, if we hush our noise and listen to their song, we will be challenged to unfurl ours.

Ruth M Gee 241206

Angels bending near the earth - Advent 1

It came upon the midnight clear,

that glorious song of old,

from Angels bending near the earth

to touch their harps of gold.

These are familiar opening words of the Christmas carol from which the Methodist Church in Britain has taken the theme of the Christmas campaign this year, ‘Hush the noise’. On or before every Sunday in Advent I will post a reflection on one verse of the carol.

Today, Llangollen Cytûn (Churches Together in Llangollen) joined in the Christmas Festival parade. We walked through the town, adults, children, and teenagers; some were dressed as angels. We gave out knitted angels and ‘Hush the Noise’ invitation cards as we wished people a happy Christmas. It was good to be part of the celebration along with Morris dancers, runners, tractors, horses, fire-engine and Siôn Corn (The traditional Welsh Father Christmas, who is dressed in green). We believe it was the first time the churches had taken part in the parade, joining with the community and sharing something of the good news of the angels. In the town centre others maintained the annual tradition of offering food, drink and craft activities for children in the Methodist Church Hall. They too were sharing the good news.

We really didn’t look at all like the angels we read about in the Bible, they were at least awesome and possibly terrifying. The shepherds were terrified when the angels came:

“Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.” (Luke 2:9)

Because of their terror the first words of the angelic message had to be, “Do not be afraid.” The glory of the Lord shone around them and that meant it was too bright to look at, all they could do was fall to the ground.

 It is little wonder that the hymn writer, Edmund Hamilton Sears, writes of angels bending near the earth. When I imagine angels bending near the earth, I picture beings whose dwelling place is beyond my thought or imagination. They are bending through the aeons of separation like a mighty bridge between heaven and earth. God is close and they are showing this to be so.

 The angels bend near the earth for only one reason, to touch their harps, to sing their song of peace and good-will, God’s gift to all.

 Will we stop? Will we allow moments of solemn stillness? Will we hear the angels sing?

And, when we hear them sing, will we recognise the power of God’s grace and be ready to receive the gift of peace?

 

Palm Sunday - It wasn't the colt that made me wonder

It wasn’t the colt that made me wonder, not even the way they came into the village and just took it for him to ride. I was surprised how easily Jacob let it go but he had met the preacher before and perhaps they had an arrangement. It was a beautiful young animal but there are plenty of them around. It wasn’t the colt. 

And it wasn’t the singing and the shouting of Hosanna! That was exciting and stimulating, it always is when the pilgrims arrive, so full of hope and enthusiasm. We all want freedom from occupation, freedom from fear and uncertainty, freedom to be fully the people the Lord has created us to be – we all sing and shout.

It wasn’t the size of the crowd that made me wonder, or the heavy military presence or the anger of the religious leaders at all the enthusiasm.

What made me wonder were the green leaves waved and laid down as a thick living carpet marking the way to the temple. Pilgrims often wave the branches of palm and olive as they sing, but to lay them down like that and so many of them; to place the symbols of spring and of new life and hope under his feet - that made me wonder. Was this a celebration of life or was the trampling of the leaves a sign of death? Was his journey through the crushed and trampled leaves the way that new life and hope would come as we shouted Hosanna! Was our God going to save us through death and bring us new life?

How could that be true? 

I wonder...

Lord, as we lay down our palms and follow you into Jerusalem, bring us with you through death to life we pray.

Epiphany Prayer

Epiphany

 

O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness

Bow down before him, his glory proclaim.

 

Glorious and gracious God we bow before you now,

Creating, redeeming and calling God we worship you,

You are our God and through your grace we are your people,

You have called us by name and we are yours.

 

With gold of obedience and incense of lowliness,

Kneel and adore him: the Lord is his name.

 

Lord, your overflowing love fills the universe,

In love you have come among us, sharing our humanity, 

Calling us to love one another as you love us.

Jesus, Son of God, Saviour, 

We adore you

 

Holy Spirit, God among us,

Comfort and disturb us.

Help us to respond in obedience and humility,

Help us to glimpse the glory of God with us,

And to proclaim it through our actions and our words

That others may come to worship and adore.

 

Glorious and gracious God

Father, Son and Spirit,

We worship and adore you.

 

 

Inspired by “O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness” John Samuel Bewley Monsell (1811-1875) STF 34

 

 

RMG 220108

All we have in common is the weeping (2)

"A voice is heard in Ramah

lamentation and bitter weeping

Rachel is weeping for her children;

she refuses to be comforted for her children

because they are no more." *

Weeping

    Weeping

        Weeping

Longing to hug

Fear of forgetting

seeking flesh-warmth glass imprisoned.

flesh of my flesh

blood of my blood

screen printed image looked on with love.

Child centred, covid centred,

childhood disrupting,

mutating and forcing to future unwritten.

weeping for the children

God weeping with us.

Weeping

    Weeping

         Weeping

*Jeremiah 31:15

Ruth M Gee 29 December 2020

Harrowing of Hell

Crucified Christ today I pray:

For those imprisoned by pain,
where physical torment prevents fullness of life

and for the watching ones enduring agony
held in helplessness when they would offer all;
Harrow their hell.

For those who are not heard,
whose voices are silenced by the powerful,
whose whispers fall on deaf ears;
Harrow their hell.

For those whose horizon is diminished,
those held in despair
in the pit of depression,
hearing too many voices claim their allegiance;
Harrow their hell.

For those who sleep in the day
because the night is too dangerous,
seeking shelter in closed doorways;
Harrow their hell.

For those whose love is deemed unworthy
by those who cannot love beyond themselves,
excluded and derided,
unheard, unseen unnamed;
Harrow their hell.

For those who are ever hungry,
denied food, education, health and dignity,
praised for their resilience
not naming the inequality;
Harrow their hell.

Watching and waiting,
Lord we pray
Harrow the hells of your people today.

©Ruth M Gee (2018)

Gethsemane

And did your mother stay awake?

While others slept

did she, unasked, lie wakeful

as mothers often do?

Did she remember

acclamation of elders

adoring her child,

the recognised awaited one?

And did the long-dreaded sword pierce sharp that night,

preventing slumber

disturbing rest?

Did she watch unseen, unseeing

as you sweated blood?

And did she pray that angels would once more attend?

                               
(©Ruth M Gee 2015)

Fragrance of perfume

Fragrance of perfume

Jesus came to Bethany and there they gave a dinner for him. The friends gathered, the talked and ate together. Martha served and her brother Lazarus was at the table with them. How thankful they must have been that Lazarus was there, alive and released from the tomb by Jesus.

Things were normal again, Lazarus was well and the friends could gather each taking their familiar place. 

And then Mary changed things. Mary who had sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to him, Mary who had wept at Jesus’ feet outside her brother’s tomb. Mary broke all conventions now in one costly extravagant action as she took costly perfume and poured it over Jesus’ feet before wiping them with her hair. An extravagant, intimate and fragrant action. “The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume”

Some protested at the extravagance. Some thought the perfume could have been better used, could have benefitted more deserving people, could be sold to raise money for the poor.

Jesus, friend of the poor, friend of all, received the gift and through it pointed to his own mortality. The blessing of his physical presence was to be treasured and celebrated, it was to end all too soon. The fragrance of the perfume filled the house but would disperse and be held as a profound memory, recalling presence, laughter, friendship and extravagant life-giving love.

When such physical companionship was no longer possible the love would remain. And after death would come new life, new hope and new joy. But for now this was only a promise, a promise barely heard and not yet understood; a promise of restoration, life and joy.

Fragrance of perfume,

            given in love;

Fragrance of perfume,

            anointing the flesh;

Fragrance of perfume,

            blessing of God.

Fragrance of perfume,

            filling the house;

Fragrance of perfume,

            filling my life;

Fragrance of perfume,

            aroma of grace.

(based on John 12:3)

©Ruth M Gee  

Did you remember? - a reflection for Holy Week

How they looked at me, my children.
Shared moments of love and trust,
eyes meeting, bonds forming,
bonds that held strong
binding me to them for ever,
binding my eyes, my heart, my tears, my smiles.
I feel their arms around my neck,
smell the baby skin,
small fingers pulling gently at my hair.
I remember.

Did you remember precious moments too,
returning to you, sharp and sweet
as you watched him ride into Jerusalem?
Did you feel his arms around your neck
and long to hold him safe?
Did your eyes meet his
binding you in sorrow, fear and aching love,
Bitter sweet,
stirring longing
to ease his journey,
to make all well?

Written in St Mary's Church, Lindisfarne on Palm Sunday 2015, following morning worship and inspired by the icon of the Madonna and Child in that place (pictured above).

Ruth M Gee

It made me wonder

It wasn’t the colt that made me wonder, not even the way they came into the village and just took it for him to ride. I was surprised how easily Jacob let it go but he had met the preacher before and perhaps they had an arrangement. It was a beautiful young animal but there are plenty of them around. It wasn’t the colt. 

And it wasn’t the singing and the shouting of Hosanna! That was exciting and stimulating, it always is when the pilgrims arrive, so full of hope and enthusiasm. We all want freedom from occupation, freedom from fear and uncertainty, freedom to be fully the people the Lord has created us to be – we all sing and shout.

It wasn’t the size of the crowd that made me wonder, or the heavy military presence or the anger of the religious leaders at all the enthusiasm.

What made me wonder were the green leaves waved and laid down as a thick living carpet marking the way to the temple. Pilgrims often wave the branches of palm and olive as they sing, but to lay them down like that and so many of them; to place the symbols of spring and of new life and hope under his feet - that made me wonder. Was this a celebration of life or was the trampling of the leaves a sign of death? Was his journey through the crushed and trampled leaves the way that new life and hope would come as we shouted Hosanna? Was our God going to save us through death and bring us new life?

How could that be true? 

I wonder...

Lord, as we lay down our palms and follow you into Jerusalem, bring us with you through death to life we pray.

(Ruth M Gee 2015)

The Gardener

I love the feel of the earth in my hands, the warm crumbly texture of it as it sifts through my fingers. It is full of life, teeming with the promise of new growth, dancing with the joy of creation. In the soil is the hope, the past and the future of life. In its primeval promise it embraces the love of the creator.

I worked at the first in the creator’s garden, a fertile area where we could always hear the bubbling, laughing voice of the four rivers carrying the living water to the soil. It was joyful work; innovative and exciting. We watched the first flowers grow and named them according to their colour or their scent. The trees were tall and strong, their roots reaching down into the heart of things and drawing sustenance from the source. The fruit on those trees was voluptuous in shape and taste, juices ran down your face as you ate, anointing and nourishing.

My favourite flowers, and his, were the poppies. Their prodigality never ceased to amaze me; carpets of fragile red blooms, extravagant in colour, delicate to touch and fleeting in bloom. They were so beautiful, regally clothed, exulting in the joy of life.

We had to leave, of course. I suppose it was inevitable that we would be unable to resist that fruit, the forbidden fruit. We had so much that we could eat, an abundance of beauty and taste but we had to have it all. ‘All or nothing’ we said and, as it turned out they were the same thing. We didn’t look back as we left but the brightness of the garden shone from behind us and sometimes, when I look towards the sun, I think I see the place again.

There were many gardens after that and my joy in the soil never left me but it was harder now to release its promise. The flowers still grew and with them the persistent weeds. Weeds that threatened to strangle the delicate shoots, to suck the goodness from the soil, to prevent new life and darken hope.

Weeds that would pull the flowers up if you attacked them too soon, weeds of synthetic beauty, sculpted to deceive, subtle in subversion.

The poppies still bloomed, nothing could stop them, so persistent and generous in their flowering are those lilies of the field. They always remind me of his love and care, his delight in his creation. But I was surprised to see them that morning.

It had been a dark week-end, not good for growing. I went to the garden expecting the earth to be weeping, weeping like women, in need of anointing. It began softly at first, a familiar grief, well known and appropriate. Then the shock of emptiness led to despair, to absence and uncertainty, to loneliness.

..............

The weeping drew me across the waking earth. The grass was wet with dew, springing up at every step, quenching thirst, inviting new life. Gossamer threads, spider sculpted, reflected the promise of morning light. Still she wept. I spoke her name, She turned, hope dawning in her eyes. Around our feet the poppies danced in jubilation and, bathed in brightness, we celebrated our homecoming.

^‘For since by man came death, by Man also came the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ all shall be made alive.’ (1 Corinthians 15:21-22)

©Ruth M Gee 2011

Harrowing of Hell

Crucified Christ today I pray:

For those imprisoned by pain,
where physical torment prevents fullness of life
and for the watching ones enduring agony
held in helplessness when they would offer all;
Harrow their hell.

For those who are not heard,
whose voices are silenced by the powerful,
whose whispers fall on deaf ears;
Harrow their hell.

For those whose horizon is diminished,
those held in despair
in the pit of depression,
hearing too many voices claim their allegiance;
Harrow their hell.

For those who sleep in the day
because the night is too dangerous,
seeking shelter in closed doorways;
Harrow their hell.

For those whose love is deemed unworthy
by those who cannot love beyond themselves,
excluded and derided,
unheard, unseen unnamed;
Harrow their hell.

For those who are ever hungry,
denied food, education, health and dignity,
praised for their resilience
not naming the inequality;
Harrow their hell.

Watching and waiting,
Lord we pray
Harrow the hells of your people today.

Mystery of Epiphany

Today is the feast of the Epiphany, a day when we remember especially the visit of the magi, wise men or kings to the baby Jesus. We know the carols about the kings of orient who bear their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. We have given them names: Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar. Children have put on crowns and carried gifts in nativity plays. We see them riding or leading their camels on our Christmas cards. We allow them to arrive early and mingle with shepherds from another story.

The visitors from lands afar, those who followed the star, remind us of the obligation to welcome the stranger as one from whom we can learn and receive. They remind us not to underestimate the significance of the strangers who knock on our door but to welcome them in for we may be entertaining angels unaware.

The gifts that the strangers bring are gloriously inappropriate, extravagant and unexpected. The message carried in the gifts is no less a surprise - that this baby will be honoured as king and God and that his death is foreshadowed even in his birth.

The magi came, they brought their gifts, they followed their star and then returned another way avoiding Herod and perhaps delaying his response to the birth of a son to Mary and Joseph, ordinary folk blessed by God in God's complicated way.

The magi left, the family fled - I wonder what happened to the gold and the frankincense?

The myrrh could have been used many times over in the aftermath of that visit. As Herod's troops massacred the children, breaking their fragile, precious bodies, finding in their innocence a threat to grasped, snatched power. There were many small bodies to be anointed, many fathers and mothers left in despair, many children left alone as their young siblings died. The myrrh was useful all too soon, the gold and frankincense would have to wait their turn.

Epiphany, like Christmas, is a time when we can meet with God in our encounter with the baby whose birth brought joy, angel songs and extravagant gifts along with homelessness, flight and the slaughter of children.

In all these things God is with us.
This is a great mystery.