mend

 

The world and all that is in it, created, redeemed, and sustained by the triune God, is good. But it is easily and often torn. This is because the fabric of the world is meant to be soft, not hard like armour. The Son of God himself was torn.

We are called to mend the torn fabric of the world, according to our calling to be in the world in a particular way, or as a particular participation in the life of that creating, redeeming, sustaining God. Through carefully considered words, and caring actions.

It is said that a stitch, in time, saves nine. But one stitch is not very secure, and if it is not in keeping with the fabric, it spoils rather than enhances. Ten stitches are more likely to hold, and can be a thing of beauty in themselves. A daisy or a teapot; a leaf or a sun.

Do not ignore any tear you find in the fabric of the world (in a spouse, or a child, or a friend; in yourself, or your worst enemy; in the earth or sea or air; whether self-inflicted, or inflicted by another, or caused by your own clumsy handling) for it will only get larger.

But do not rush to mend it. Especially, do not rush to mend a person (including yourself). To do so will neither hold nor enhance. And do not trust anyone who claims to be able to fix any torn thing quickly; they will only cause more tears. Instead, observe the tear in the fabric, the way it runs. And forgive the fabric for tearing, for not being able to hold, for not bearing your weight day after day indefinitely. Forgive yourself, where necessary; and ask the fabric to forgive you, where appropriate. But do not rush to mend.

A stitch, in time, saves nine; but ten, in time, may better mend the fabric.

 

rise

 

Lectionary texts set for today: Acts 9.36-43 and John 10.22-30.

The Gospel passage set for today opens with John informing us that this account took place in winter. This might feel like an incidental detail, but there are no incidental details in his writing: every word is carefully chosen. The literal meaning of the word that means winter is tempest-driven. That makes sense, though in England these days the storm season lasts from October to October. But I think we can all relate to times in our lives when we are battered by storms.

In this context, Jesus says, to those who follow me, who apprentice their lives to me, I give that quality of life that triumphs over death, and they shall never be separated from that life which flows from God.

The fifty days between Easter and Pentecost are the Season of Resurrection or Season of Life, the annual practice of learning again what it means to live lives that participate in the life of the risen Lord Jesus.

In the reading from Acts, we meet Tabitha. Her life is an example of this. She has been battered by many storms. She is likely a widow and an internally displaced person, who has lost both her husband and her city, and made a new home in Joppa. Here she rises to serve others, mending the torn fabric of the world by making clothes (probably in a street-facing work room) and hosting the church in her upper room.

When Tabitha dies, her friends send for Peter. We read that he got up from where he was receiving hospitality and went to Tabitha; that he told her corpse to get up; and that when she responded, he helped her up. For all these risings, the author, Luke, uses the same word that is used to describe the resurrection or rising from the dead. These, then, are examples of participating in the life of the risen Jesus.

This morning, I was awake at quarter to two. I confess before the company of heaven and before you, my sisters and brothers, that I did not think: Alleluia, Christ is risen. Let me rise with him, kneel by my bed, and pray for the congregation. I did not. I lay there for several minutes wishing I was still asleep (this never works) then got up and walked down the corridor to have a wee, and went back to bed, to sleep fitfully. When I did get up, I washed and dressed and went downstairs. I sat at my desk, and slipped my clerical collar into my shirt, because sometimes I forget. A few minutes later, I remembered to slip my clerical collar in, fished one out of the desk drawer, and in attempting to insert it, discovered to my surprise that I had already done it. So, off to a good start today...

But every time that we rise can be a response to the voice of Jesus calling us to follow him. And every time we rise, we may bring life to others. I have never raised someone from physical death, but I have raised the dead, unknowingly at the time, and perhaps you have too. I have said just the right thing at just the right moment that has caused someone in deep despair, someone who was existing but not alive, to return to life. I know this only because more than one person has told me this, long after the event. Some of you might read this.

And I have been on the other side of that experience too: I have known deep despair and been called back to life by the words and actions of others, who, like Tabitha, mended a torn world through compassionate care. Some of you might read this.

Today, may you rise, made strong by the risen life of the risen Jesus.

 

if Jesus were me

 

Tabitha (Acts 9.36-43) was probably:

a widow, who knew the grief of losing a spouse;

a refugee (internally displaced), who knew the grief of losing her home city through the experience of persecution;

bi-lingual, knowing the tensions of living alongside close neighbours who had different cultural values.

The one thing we know for certain about Tabitha is that she was a disciple, someone who had apprenticed her life to the life of Jesus.

The American philosopher Dallas Willard (1935-2013) said:

‘Discipleship is the process of becoming who Jesus would be if he were you.’

Jesus was a builder, that is, a stone mason and carpenter; and a rabbi (a teacher of how to do life well) and healer. (Rabbis came from many different backgrounds, and would usually continue to ply their trade as a bi-vocational way of life.)

Jesus-as-Tabitha was a seamstress, a maker of both undergarments and outer garments. A maker of items that were both practical and beautiful, created as a tangible manifestation of compassion.

The same Life, expressed in different ways. Diversity in unity.

What does Jesus-as-you do?

And where?

What has Jesus-in-you lost, and found?

 

learning to rise

 

The seven weeks between Easter Sunday and Pentecost are a Season of the Resurrection, a season in which the Church is invited once again to learn how to live our lives in the light of Jesus’ resurrection and as a participation in Jesus’ resurrection.

Throughout this annual season, the Church reads and meditates on the Acts of the Apostles.

The Gospel passage set for Holy Communion today begins like this: Jesus said, ‘No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up [άναστήσω, ‘will raise up’: from άνίστημι, to raise, to rise, to stand up, to resurrect, to rise from among the dead] on the last day’ (John 6.44) and it is paired with an extract from Acts that begins ‘Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up [Άνάστηθι, ‘rise up’: from άνίστημι] and go towards the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’ (This is a wilderness road.)’ (Acts 8.26).

The reading from Acts set for this coming Sunday, Acts 9.36-43, tells us that at the request of two messengers, ‘Peter got up [Άναστάς, ‘having risen up’: from άνίστημι] and went with them’ (Acts 9.39) … ‘He turned to the body [of Tabitha, who had died] and said, ‘Tabitha, get up.’ [άνάστηθι, ‘arise!’: from άνίστημι] Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. He gave her his hand and helped her up [άνέστησεν, ‘he raised up’: from άνίστημι].’ (Acts 9.40b-41a).

That is to say, there is a repeated theme – here illustrated by Philip, Peter, and Tabitha – of participating in the risen life of Jesus.

The point is not that this life is a rehearsal for the life to come, but that the life to come has already begun.

Here is the thing: I rose up this morning, and so (unless you are reading this in bed, having not yet got up) did you. Whether rising willingly or unwillingly, gladly or reluctantly, I rose up yesterday and today and God-willing I shall rise up tomorrow. And each opportunity to rise is an invitation to participate in the risen life of Jesus. Each rising is a response to that invitation. I am alive today – as opposed to merely existing – because he lives: because I live ‘through him, and with him, and in him’ and he in me.

And if I rise this day, it is to bring life to others. To raise up those who need hope, need purpose, need that quality of life that triumphs over sin and death, over all that separates us from God and our neighbour, and even our very selves. To know this life at work in my own life and to give it away knowing that it will never run out.

This way of living is what we are called to discover and rediscover in this season. The Season of the Resurrection.

 

shearing

 

There is a fascinating account in the Acts of the Apostles of the faith journey of a gender-Queer Black African (Acts 8.26-40).

Philip is divinely directed to seek this person out and befriend them. They are reading from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah (they will ask Philip about the meaning of Isaiah 53.7-8) and they see something of their own life story reflected back at them there. Philip does not reject them but helps them to see that Jesus identified with them, and they can identify with Jesus (this they decide to do, as evidenced in their request to be baptised). They will become the parent-in-the-faith of all who follow Jesus in Africa, the rich tapestry of Orthodox, Roman Catholics, Anglicans, and Pentecostals.

The verses that spoke to them from Isaiah are significant, not only at a personal level for this individual but in relation to how we ought to relate to anyone, and especially if we call Jesus our Lord. Here, the person denied justice is described as being like an ewe before her shearer. A shearer is not supposed to injure the sheep, let alone kill them. Shearers are supposed to remove the fleece, for the good of the sheep and for the benefit of people who can be clothed with garments made from the wool. This is a matter of animal husbandry, an annual event, familiar to the sheep. But the ewe is betrayed by her shearers, who instead butcher her.

In a similar way, Jesus is betrayed by the religious leaders of his people, by those who ought to have attended to his welfare and, through him, the good of others. Yet God will vindicate him.

The call of the family of God is to be a shepherd people, who attend to the welfare of humanity and who enable the gifts of every person to contribute to the good of all, meeting physical needs and paying attention to dignity.

When we fail to respond to anyone in this way, we are guilty of iniquity.

And yet Jesus the ewe has taken upon herself the iniquity of us all, so that we might be unburdened of its weight. Jesus the true ewe becomes Jesus the true shearer.

May we submit to his shearing, and receive all, as God (not only) receives (but also seeks) them.

 

mapping my brain

 

Map-making. A personal neurodivergent perspective.

Neurodiversity is a way of mapping the differences in how human brains deal with sensory processing, motor abilities, social comfort, cognition, and attention or focus. It embraces everyone. Those who fall within the average range of experience (the norm: which therefore becomes established as the default normal in behaviour and assumptions) can be described as neurotypical. Those who lie outside of that range can be described as neurodivergent. Because neurobiology and neurocognition are complex, neuro divergence can present in many ways; but those who are neurotypical and those who are neurodivergent are all equally human, all fall within the diversity of expressions of what it is to be human. However, those who are neurodivergent may experience particular challenges, in part because of their own neurobiology, and in significant disabling (and, potentially, enabling) ways due to neurotypical assumptions and structures.

One of the ways I like to think of this is as a map of England. (It is a myth/lie that autistic people cannot handle non-literal concepts. If anything, it is neurotypicals who struggle with literal concepts, such that they need to reinforce their sentences by stating ‘literally’ this or that when they describe literal accounts.) Everyone who lives in England lives somewhere on the map. The majority, the typical person, live in urban settings. Society is largely designed to serve this population, not least because numbers present needs. But those who live in small towns, villages or hamlets can feel left behind, inadequately supported by public infrastructure.

In this analogy, neurotypicals live in cities. They have easy access to transport links between different places (smooth connections between different pieces of information, or experiences). There are motorways and inter-city train links, as well as ring roads and dual carriageways. Of course, in a city there are also many side streets and back lanes, but many people who live in cities fall into habitual patterns of only using the most direct routes. They can become entirely unfamiliar with streets just a block away from their preferred regular routes. Should that route be blocked, forcing them to adjust, they may discover things they had previously been unaware of.

There are many different neuro divergences, such as autism, ADHD, dyslexia, dyscalculia, dyspraxia, or Tourettes (involuntary physical and vocal tics).

Autistics have a particular set of sensory processing and social comfort challenges. They have far more neural connections than neurotypicals, but these are also significantly weaker. (Neurotypicals have fewer, stronger connections.) In this map analogy, autistic live in rural areas. Here there is a vast network of small roads, lanes, single tracks, footpaths and bridle paths, but none of them can handle much volume. If a farmer is driving sheep along the lane, you are going to be stuck behind them for some time.

Some autistic people are hypersensitive to stimuli, while others are hyposensitive. This can be as true of emotions as of external sensory issues. Our emotions can be like mountains: very big, and majestic, but with few (and sometimes eroded) footpaths to navigate them.

Neurotypicals sometimes differentiate between high-functioning and low-functioning autism, but this is unhelpful. The demands of being an autistic person in a neurotypical landscape are untypically draining, even if some of us can navigate visits to a major city, sometimes, if not all of the time. The distinction that high/low functioning attempts to draw is between autistic people who do not have additional learning disabilities, and those who do (or whose autism is misunderstood in this way, such as selective mutism being mistaken for cognitive impairment rather than coping mechanism). Other learning disabilities can co-exist with autism, just as they can be found among the neurotypical population.

Those that are not autistic are allistic. Allistic people can be neurotypicals, or neurodivergent in ways other than autism. So, someone with ADHD is allistic, but someone with AuDHD (where autism and ADHD meet and overlap) is not.

ADHD relates to specific challenges in the areas of attention or focus, (sometimes) hyperactivity, and impulsivity. People with ADHD have more (weaker) neural connections than neurotypicals but not as many as autistic people. On our map, they live on the suburban fringe between the city and the countryside, with access to some of the larger mainstream transport (connection) routes, but arguably with choice paralysis. Those with AuDHD occupy the space between the suburb/villages and the most rural/remote communities. At times, the autistic challenges and ADHD challenges conflict, causing internal turmoil.

 

acts

 

As many of you know, I run, with others, as a matter of habit. As a discipline, it reminds me that I am a whole made of parts – heart and soul and mind and physical strength. It also helps me to attend to these things. If you know this about me, you will also know that this past winter I have struggled with the discipline to run, even though I desired to do so, and that my absence had a negative impact on me. Now that the days are lighter, I am returning.

It is the discipline of the Church to read through selected extracts from the Acts of the Apostles throughout the Season of Easter. These bring us back to the first women and men who wrestled with what it looked like to live in the light of the resurrection. Since last year – and perhaps much longer ago than that – we may have struggled or even fallen away; but each year we can begin again.

This coming Sunday, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, we will hear Acts 9.36-43 alongside John 10.22-30 where Jesus says, of those who follow him – that is, who apprentice their lives to his – that ‘I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.’ ‘Eternal’ life relates to a quality of life, experienced in the present, as a good and enduring gift from God: a fully alive life.

In Joppa (Jaffa, Yafo, today part of Tel Aviv-Yafo) we meet a disciple whose Hebrew name is Tabitha (‘gazelle,’ from a Chaldean root – the language of the people Abraham grew up among – meaning ‘beauty,’ ‘glory,’ ‘graceful,’ ‘elegant’) but who is also known by the Greek variant Dorcas (‘gazelle,’ from a root meaning ‘to see clearly,’ gazelles having large eyes and being alert to their surroundings).

Backstory: in the early Church in Jerusalem, there were many widows. Some were from the Hellenistic community, those who, while holding onto their Jewish faith traditions, had in other regards embraced Greek culture – and language – over the generations of Greek expansion around the eastern Mediterranean. Some were from the traditionalist community, who distanced themselves from anything Greek. The Church was drawn from both communities. The Church also sought to provide for at least the most destitute of the widows among their number. But the Hellenistic widows complained that they were being overlooked in the distribution of support. So, the apostles – those who had been apprenticed to Jesus and now sent out by him to gather apprentices of their own – decided to appoint administrators. Significantly, they did not seek balanced representation: they appointed only from the Hellenistic community, from the group who had been overlooked, trusting that they would not seek revenge but guarantee equity. One of those was Stephen. When false allegations were made against him, he became the first person to bear witness to (to be a ‘martyr’) the long salvation history that ran through Abraham, Joseph, Moses, David, and now Jesus ‘the Righteous One,’ in the face of public execution (hence ‘martyrdom’). This sparked a greater persecution that scattered the church across Judea and Samaria. Some made it to the historic coastal port of Joppa (a port somewhat superseded by this time by Caesarea Maritima to its north). The account of Tabitha/Dorcas suggests that both Hellenistic (Greek-speaking) and traditionalist (Hebrew-speaking) widows lived there harmoniously.

Tabitha lived a life that was evident to all as abounding in accomplishing good, in acts of compassion. In particular, she had taken to heart the words of Jesus, ‘I was naked and you gave me clothing,’ (Matthew 25.36) and was a maker of both undergarments and outer garments. And we hear that she became ill and died – that is, perished. Cut off from the life she had known, and for which she was known. The thing that Jesus had said would not happen. And so, having heard that Peter, who was travelling around the scattered communities encouraging them, was only ten miles away, they sent for him to come quickly.

We read that Peter got up: the word can mean to rise, but it is the same word used, in other contexts, to rise from the dead. Peter’s commonplace rising hints at what is to come. After prayer, Peter will tell the dead Tabitha to get up (same word) and when she responds by opening her eyes (remember the root of Dorcas?) and seeing Peter, she sat up and he gave her his hand and helped her up (same word).

Then Peter called the saints and widows back into the upper room (another element of this story that resonates with the events surrounding the resurrection) and showed her to be alive: to be experiencing God’s gift of life, the life Jesus gives that restores what death would attempt to take away.

Of course, Dorcas would eventually go on to die again, and this time she would not be raised with a perishable body, condemned to taste death over and over again. The point is not that we don’t die, but that our dying is not the same as perishing: we are not cut off. Not cut off from Jesus, who is Lord of the living and the dead; and not cut off from the Church, for Tabitha’s story is told to this day and reveals a principle of belonging beyond physical separation.

Some questions to reflect on:

For what would you want to be remembered by the community among whom you live?

How might a practical activity such as knitting or sewing with others stitch people from different backgrounds and worldviews together as one whole?

Does loss (of a spouse, of the place you knew as home, or the fortunes of that place) necessarily mean a diminished life, or is life in its many seasons a gift that endures?

Is it possible not only to survive the end of the world, as you have known it, but to thrive?

How can simple acts such as rising from our bed or chair become a participation in the resurrection?

John 10.22-25 tells us that ‘it was winter’ (‘storm season,’ ‘tempest-driven’) and that the Judeans ‘gathered around Jesus,’ or ‘encircled’ or ‘besieged’ him, asking ‘how long will you keep us in suspense?’ – or ‘withhold our vital breath from us?’ In times when we are collectively battered by the storms of life, and others besiege us with their overwhelming sense of need, where do we find shelter, and what do we draw on?

 

many dwellings

 

Jesus said, ‘In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.’

These words are often read at funerals, but I do not think they are concerned with what happens to us when we die. I believe Jesus was speaking about what would happen for his apprentices after his death, mighty resurrection, and glorious ascension.

‘In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places’ may be understood in this way: ‘In my Father’s household, there are many dwelling-places’ or ‘In God’s family, there are many places where God is found at home.’

Jesus said, ‘the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me.’ That is, when Jesus was walking around Galilee, Samaria, and Judea, he was the dwelling place of God on earth, the place where God resided. He was at home in God, and God was at home in him.

But now, Jesus was returning to the Father (to God) to prepare for the sending of the Holy Spirit so that all God’s children would be at home in God, and God in them.

I do not think this is a partisan thing. I believe that everyone you meet is, at least potentially, someone on and with whom God rests. I do believe that it is possible to choose, in ways that become habitual, to live your life in such a way that God departs; but even then, I believe God longs to be able to return home.

But I also believe that many of the people we meet, including many Christians, live their lives unaware of the reality that they are a place where God dwells.

Jesus said, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’ That is, his life both reveals that a human life can be God’s home and also teaches or (better) trains us how to live such a life.

Where does God reside? With you, in your life. And also with me.

In a world where many have lost a sense of significance or worth, or are anxious about what the day might hold, we can wake every morning saying, ‘I am at home in God, and God in me. I am at rest in God, and God in me.’ And because of this, we can extend hospitality towards others.

The point is not that there is a place for you in heaven when you die, but that there is a place for God in you (and you in God) while you live.

 

John 14.1-14

‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.’ Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’ Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.’

 

these

 

John Chapter 20 ends like this:

‘Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.’

John 20.30, 31

That would be an enigmatic end. Except that John carries on immediately:

‘After these things Jesus showed himself again to his disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way...’

John 21.1

And as the story unfolds:

‘When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love [agapas] me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love [philō] you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”’

John 21.15

[A note: agapas has to do with choice, with choosing to accept that which is best for the other, whether it is our preference or not; philō has to do with emotion, and we do not choose our emotional reactions, though we do have some degree of choice over how we will behave in response and we can train our responses.]

But these are written...After these things...do you love me more than these?

Jesus asks Peter if he will choose, again and again, to love Jesus more than the adventures they have shared together. And to live out that love in serving others, after Jesus returns to the Father.

And John asks his reader to do the same. To choose to love and so to trust in Jesus, beyond the stories recorded about him. Because the stories that are written down must come to an end, but there is more, so much more. Jesus is still performing signs that reveal the glory of God in the world today. John wants us to participate in that life, life to the full.

I love the stories of Jesus. But if you were to ask me which was my favourite, I might just have to reply: I am not sure it has happened yet.

The actual end of John gives us the enigmatic conclusion hinted at a Chapter earlier:

‘But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.’

John 21.25