I saw her as I sat in the reception. She was moving toward the door with all the speed of someone who needed to escape, as she got closer her speed increased as if she was afraid someone was going to stop her. Her face was flushed and her mouth made an "O" shape as she sucked in air. Her eyes were filled with tears. She fanned her face with her hand as if this small action could waft away what was engulfing her. I was reminded of someone who had just escaped from a collapsed building.
I had stood beside this woman in a room for the previous half hour, she wasn't introduced and we never made eye contact. She stared straight ahead. She like me was a bit player in a drama. However the enormity of what we shared was written all over her face and body. When she got to the door she sagged, but she kept moving. I doubt I will ever see her again, but I will remember her for a long time.
The day had started well enough. I could sense a certain undefined tension in the chaplaincy, as the Chaplains went over their lists, all reporting a larger than normal intake. The big news of the day was that a young boy had been struck by a speed boat of Cranfield beach and he was now in the high dependency unit of the children's hospital. Derek and Brenda were discussing a visit and there was also a lighter discussion about coffee before we started.
I decided to get started right away as I wanted to call in on a friend who was in ward seven at the top of the hospital. When I got there she was asleep and looking very ill. I suspect that she will not be with us for much longer.
The day progressed well and encompassed a varied list of patients male and female young and old some with behavioural difficulties, some with learning difficulties and some who were really, really angry. The really, really angry ones were the most entertaining. One older man was threatening the staff with violence because they were hurting him. The Occupational Therapists were attempting to make him stand and walk and he wasn't pleased. One young doctor intervened and spoke to the man with all the authority of school boy. The response he got was straight from the ‘Shipyard school of direct speech! The funny thing was that the man was now on his feet threatening to take on all comers and the staff were trying to get him to sit down. The man wasn't on my list but his raised voice dominated a visit I had with an 82 year old lady from Larne. She rolled her eyes when she commented about the commotion, but I suspect she was as amused as I was. Another lady denied she was who I was looking for. I asked at the nurses’ station for Mary and they pointed at her. I said she had just denied her name, they smiled and said good luck. When I went to see her I said Mary, you are who I am looking for to which she replied very loudly and very sternly My Name Is Not MARY! It is MOLLY! WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP CALLING ME MARY? I said I was sorry and explained someone must have written her name incorrectly at admission. My name is Mary she then explained, but I only use it in an official capacity. By this stage the entire ward was watching this drama unfold. I asked if it would be alright if I called her Molly? She shouted why do you think I'm explaining all this to you young man? I WANT YOU TO CALL ME MOLLY! I left her when the doctor arrived after a short but difficult time with her. She did tell me however that she liked the Methodists, although giving the impression that she may review her opinion at any moment!
The day had been good and I had, had some interesting conversations with people from various walks of life. It occurred to me that I hadn't prayed with anyone the whole day, but it had never seemed appropriate on any of the visits. I got back to the office and had a chat with some nuns who were having lunch. When Derek came in he reported he had seen the young Cranfield boy and his family. The outlook wasn't good!
What he said next sent the day to hell in a hand cart. He said that he had to carry out a naming ceremony for a baby boy who had been still born. Over lunch and a bit of “shadow boxing” around the subject it was decided I should accompany him to the ceremony. I didn't want to go and he didn't want to force me to go. He was aware how upset I was the last time we were in an end of life situation with a baby. I didn’t want to go, but I was prepared to go if he asked me, but I wasn't going to volunteer. I left the decision to him and he suggested it would be a good learning experience.
Nothing can prepare you for the horror of walking into the room with a cot in the middle of it that contains a dead baby. The horror is in the ordinariness of what you see. There was a strange dynamic in the room. The baby's mother was telling two dark haired women about the events that led her and them to this point. There was talk about blood pressures rising and falling and bleeding, all delivered in a very detached way as if it had happened to someone else. The grandmother and her partner who had been waiting outside split up when we went in, the grandmother to sit beside her daughter. On the other side of the mother was a young blond girl who was either a close friend or sister. When the grandmother went to hold her daughter's hand she recoiled and gave her hand to the younger woman. The two dark haired women stared straight ahead never speaking, or showing any emotion. The baby's father never showed. Derek explained he would read some scripture and pray, he would then ask the mother to name the child. When he got to this bit I watched as this young girl was overcome by grief. I was reminded of when I was a child how passing ferryboats on Belfast Lough used to send waves to the shore and how they could sometimes overwhelm you. This young woman was overcome by a wave of grief. As the service progressed she stroked her baby's head and smiled lovingly at him. When it came to the naming she was overcome once more and she howled in pain. Her mother encouraged her to say his name but she was so swamped nothing would come out. Eventually in a strangled voice she named him Jack. I couldn't make out the second name.
I have never experienced such grief as I witnessed in that room. As Derek signed the documentation a new pain emerged, the realization that baby Jack would soon be taken away and would never again be seen and would never again be stroked by his mother. I watched as another wave of grief accompanied that thought.
Through the whole process I had felt detached and removed, but inside I knew that this event would haunt me even more than the first baby in ICU.
I went down stairs while Derek went upstairs to inform the nursing staff that the naming ceremony was over and Jack could be removed from the room.
I saw her as I sat in reception......
Thursday, 24 May 2012
A Reflection On Death
Death, Dead, Dying Or Passed On, Away Or Over?
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe* in God, believe also in me. 2In 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?* 3And 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. 4And you know the way to the place where I am going.’* 5Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ 6Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 27Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid”
(John 14:1 -6, 27)
At a time when certainty has become harder to find, where the world we have grown up with is slipping away, we can be sure of one thing only. We are going to die. In-fact we are dying from the moment we take or first breath, however this certainty is generally something we spend our whole lives ignoring.
I had a conversation with a colleague who is vexed at medical staff's refusal to tell relatives that their loved one has died. She is convinced that died was the correct term when speaking to family about the deceased. She feels terms like passed away, passed on or over are inappropriate. I offered the suggestion that death, died and dead were brutal words that could be hard to say and even harder to hear. This has lead me to spend time in reflecting about death and what this certainty means to me, and how I should deal with it as a Pastor when helping those in my care. In the following pages I will explore how I have viewed my own mortality both in the past and at present. I will also examine experiences and how they have helped me explore the subject more deeply.
I have been reflecting about death since the conversation with Caroline, which is unusual, because I like many others do not spend too much time dwelling on my own mortality. I remember very clearly when I first realized that there was a finite length to my life. Years ago I was reading Stephen Davis’ biography of Led Zeppelin. In it he mentioned that a house Jimmy Page owned called the Tower House had later been sold to Francis Ford Coppola when it was his turn to be famous. I was struck by the idea of the movement of time. I stopped reading and thought for a long time about how short our time on earth is. In many ways it has affected my thinking ever since. My great Aunt Bella used to say we were only here on a visit and life was not a rehearsal. This information combined with the movement of time from Davis helped me kick start my life. However this thinking was all about living, not about dying.
In those days I was a very firm non-Christian, but someone of my generation growing up in Northern Ireland has been exposed to a lot of religiosity. While I was outwardly prepared to expound that this was all we were ever going to experience, inwardly I was uncomfortable that I was gambling on something that had no certainty and by the time I found out I was wrong it would be too late.
After a radical conversion and putting my Faith in Jesus Christ I was struck that now death was no longer a worry for me.
The text "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" (1 Corinthians 15:55) has always made me smile with the assurance it brings.
Last year while on a retreat I took part in a meditation that had me imagine being on a sailboat with others. We were passing over to another shore. There was no pressure as Jesus was the pilot. On our laps was a large box that contained all our possessions. We were asked to open the box and examine all the things that were precious to us. As the journey continued we hit some heavy weather and were asked to make a decision. We were asked to decide to continue or to turn back. If were wanted to continue we needed to throw out some things that were in our boxes. This process continued until we were left with only two things. Our most precious things! I had a photo of my family and my bible. This was surprising, as I don’t carry either in real life! The moment came when the decision had to be made to throw these two things overboard or turn back. I looked at both and knew that I didn’t need a photo of my family as they were in my heart, and I didn’t need God’s word as I was with Jesus. I threw both over board.
As we reflected on our decisions afterwards I realized that at no point was I ever in doubt that I wanted to be with Jesus. Another student with two small boys, who were her last two precious things, tearfully said she realized that she had to let them go as they had to make to make their own journey. However this whole meditation is based on the assurance of an after life. For me I will have passed on. For those whom I have left behind there will be varying emotions. For my Son who is a non-believer I will be dead! For my Wife and Daughter I will have passed over to the far shore, with the promise of a reunion.
For me death is no longer a worry, or so I thought. As much as I have enjoyed my time at Hospice there has been at the back of my mind just out of focus a negativity. I was only able to bring it into focus momentarily on a few occasions. It is around the death of people at the hospice.
A number of people died while I was there. One young man who arrived around the same time I did seemed to be everywhere I went. Everyone seemed to be talking about him. Although I never met him, I was deeply affected by his death. He seemed to me to be a large presence at Hospice and beyond in the greater community. He died and the staff carried on. I wondered how such a large presence could not be missed? This was my first experience of a death of someone I was aware of at hospice, but for the staff he was another patient they had helped to die well and today they had other patients to consider and help. So I was challenged to think of death instead of cure and of a good death as a positive outcome.
I spent a few moments along with Caroline with a man who was the most ill person I had ever seen. I was surprised he lasted over the weekend and into the next week. I again along with Caroline spent some time with him and his family. As Caroline prayed outwardly and I quietly for him and his loved ones, I found myself asking God not to prolong his suffering. As I observed him he was fighting for breath and I reflected how unnatural that was. His body was becoming a burden and I realised there is a point when it can no longer contain the soul. He died later that day.
A few weeks after Hospice I was at the RVH on the second part of my placement when along with the Chaplain I attended a young couple who were preparing to switch of the life support keeping their new born daughter alive. As I looked at this young couple and the grief etched on their faces I was struck by a very deep sadness. Nothing in their young lives would have prepared then for what they were now going through. When I looked at their little girl who was beautiful and pink and looking perfect, only the myriad of tubes and wires giving any clue to how sick she was. I was again struck by how this little body was a burden to the soul it contained.
When the soul leaves, the body shuts down. It dies! Is the soul burdened by death or is it set free? Is there a point when the burden for the soul is life in human form?
The Late Ralph Stanley talked of death this way:
“Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet till you can’t walk
I'll lock your jaw till you can’t talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very air, come and go with me
I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim”
Stanley recognizes death as an unavoidable fact of life. He posits the idea that the soul is alive and that as it leaves the body it enters heaven or hell, but he also talks about the body that is left behind and decomposition and corruption that ensues.
A more benign, but no less fascinating view of death comes from Henry Scott Holland from his sermon The King Of Terrors preached on the occasion of the death of Henry the seventh. Holland embraces the naturalness of death, but offers hope of reconciliation with loved ones:
“Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”
Perhaps this is the explanation between terms like Death and passed over. Death has occurred to the body, but the soul has passed over to another plain, or as Holland puts it has slipped away into another room. This view is based on the premise of personhood surviving beyond the death of the body. Our faith as Christians give us assurance that Jesus is waiting for us, a room prepared where we will be with the Father for evermore
A contrary view would be that with death comes the end of person.
Mark Cobb posits in his book A Dying Soul that death is not an experiential state, there is no person, in the way that this is understood, to feel and know death. Therefore death is the end. The end of conscious thought! If Death is the end, then no more need be said about it!
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe* in God, believe also in me. 2In 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?* 3And 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. 4And you know the way to the place where I am going.’* 5Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ 6Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 27Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid”
(John 14:1 -6, 27)
At a time when certainty has become harder to find, where the world we have grown up with is slipping away, we can be sure of one thing only. We are going to die. In-fact we are dying from the moment we take or first breath, however this certainty is generally something we spend our whole lives ignoring.
I had a conversation with a colleague who is vexed at medical staff's refusal to tell relatives that their loved one has died. She is convinced that died was the correct term when speaking to family about the deceased. She feels terms like passed away, passed on or over are inappropriate. I offered the suggestion that death, died and dead were brutal words that could be hard to say and even harder to hear. This has lead me to spend time in reflecting about death and what this certainty means to me, and how I should deal with it as a Pastor when helping those in my care. In the following pages I will explore how I have viewed my own mortality both in the past and at present. I will also examine experiences and how they have helped me explore the subject more deeply.
I have been reflecting about death since the conversation with Caroline, which is unusual, because I like many others do not spend too much time dwelling on my own mortality. I remember very clearly when I first realized that there was a finite length to my life. Years ago I was reading Stephen Davis’ biography of Led Zeppelin. In it he mentioned that a house Jimmy Page owned called the Tower House had later been sold to Francis Ford Coppola when it was his turn to be famous. I was struck by the idea of the movement of time. I stopped reading and thought for a long time about how short our time on earth is. In many ways it has affected my thinking ever since. My great Aunt Bella used to say we were only here on a visit and life was not a rehearsal. This information combined with the movement of time from Davis helped me kick start my life. However this thinking was all about living, not about dying.
In those days I was a very firm non-Christian, but someone of my generation growing up in Northern Ireland has been exposed to a lot of religiosity. While I was outwardly prepared to expound that this was all we were ever going to experience, inwardly I was uncomfortable that I was gambling on something that had no certainty and by the time I found out I was wrong it would be too late.
After a radical conversion and putting my Faith in Jesus Christ I was struck that now death was no longer a worry for me.
The text "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" (1 Corinthians 15:55) has always made me smile with the assurance it brings.
Last year while on a retreat I took part in a meditation that had me imagine being on a sailboat with others. We were passing over to another shore. There was no pressure as Jesus was the pilot. On our laps was a large box that contained all our possessions. We were asked to open the box and examine all the things that were precious to us. As the journey continued we hit some heavy weather and were asked to make a decision. We were asked to decide to continue or to turn back. If were wanted to continue we needed to throw out some things that were in our boxes. This process continued until we were left with only two things. Our most precious things! I had a photo of my family and my bible. This was surprising, as I don’t carry either in real life! The moment came when the decision had to be made to throw these two things overboard or turn back. I looked at both and knew that I didn’t need a photo of my family as they were in my heart, and I didn’t need God’s word as I was with Jesus. I threw both over board.
As we reflected on our decisions afterwards I realized that at no point was I ever in doubt that I wanted to be with Jesus. Another student with two small boys, who were her last two precious things, tearfully said she realized that she had to let them go as they had to make to make their own journey. However this whole meditation is based on the assurance of an after life. For me I will have passed on. For those whom I have left behind there will be varying emotions. For my Son who is a non-believer I will be dead! For my Wife and Daughter I will have passed over to the far shore, with the promise of a reunion.
For me death is no longer a worry, or so I thought. As much as I have enjoyed my time at Hospice there has been at the back of my mind just out of focus a negativity. I was only able to bring it into focus momentarily on a few occasions. It is around the death of people at the hospice.
A number of people died while I was there. One young man who arrived around the same time I did seemed to be everywhere I went. Everyone seemed to be talking about him. Although I never met him, I was deeply affected by his death. He seemed to me to be a large presence at Hospice and beyond in the greater community. He died and the staff carried on. I wondered how such a large presence could not be missed? This was my first experience of a death of someone I was aware of at hospice, but for the staff he was another patient they had helped to die well and today they had other patients to consider and help. So I was challenged to think of death instead of cure and of a good death as a positive outcome.
I spent a few moments along with Caroline with a man who was the most ill person I had ever seen. I was surprised he lasted over the weekend and into the next week. I again along with Caroline spent some time with him and his family. As Caroline prayed outwardly and I quietly for him and his loved ones, I found myself asking God not to prolong his suffering. As I observed him he was fighting for breath and I reflected how unnatural that was. His body was becoming a burden and I realised there is a point when it can no longer contain the soul. He died later that day.
A few weeks after Hospice I was at the RVH on the second part of my placement when along with the Chaplain I attended a young couple who were preparing to switch of the life support keeping their new born daughter alive. As I looked at this young couple and the grief etched on their faces I was struck by a very deep sadness. Nothing in their young lives would have prepared then for what they were now going through. When I looked at their little girl who was beautiful and pink and looking perfect, only the myriad of tubes and wires giving any clue to how sick she was. I was again struck by how this little body was a burden to the soul it contained.
When the soul leaves, the body shuts down. It dies! Is the soul burdened by death or is it set free? Is there a point when the burden for the soul is life in human form?
The Late Ralph Stanley talked of death this way:
“Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet till you can’t walk
I'll lock your jaw till you can’t talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very air, come and go with me
I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim”
Stanley recognizes death as an unavoidable fact of life. He posits the idea that the soul is alive and that as it leaves the body it enters heaven or hell, but he also talks about the body that is left behind and decomposition and corruption that ensues.
A more benign, but no less fascinating view of death comes from Henry Scott Holland from his sermon The King Of Terrors preached on the occasion of the death of Henry the seventh. Holland embraces the naturalness of death, but offers hope of reconciliation with loved ones:
“Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”
Perhaps this is the explanation between terms like Death and passed over. Death has occurred to the body, but the soul has passed over to another plain, or as Holland puts it has slipped away into another room. This view is based on the premise of personhood surviving beyond the death of the body. Our faith as Christians give us assurance that Jesus is waiting for us, a room prepared where we will be with the Father for evermore
A contrary view would be that with death comes the end of person.
Mark Cobb posits in his book A Dying Soul that death is not an experiential state, there is no person, in the way that this is understood, to feel and know death. Therefore death is the end. The end of conscious thought! If Death is the end, then no more need be said about it!
Monday, 2 April 2012
The Great Commission (From Last June)
Yesterday I was commissioned as a probationary minister in the Methodist church in Ireland. As I stood at the front of conference I was a swirling wreck of emotions. On one hand I was calm to the point of being numb, almost feeling like I was a mere observer, then there was the rising sense of panic as I looked at all the clerical collars and realised I was in the process of joining this band. Me in a clerical collar and being called Reverend? Not possible! Then there was the emotion as the President spoke of what it meant to be set aside for this holy work. He also spoke of how in our inadequacies the Holy Spirit can work; he encouraged us to never fear feeling inadequate. My fellow probationers and myself became the focus of a love scrum as the good and great hugged, kissed and shook hands with us. I was fine until Bert Montgomery came over and shook hands with me.
Bert led my wife to faith and has been a great influence on me. I study with his son, who is also a fine man and a future leader of our church. As I looked at Bert now bent low by age and illness my whole journey stretched before me and I realised how far I have travelled from our first meeting when I pinned him to the wall with a socialist polemic on how the churches were failing. I managed to hold it together, but it was touch and go. Bert nodded but his eyes showed he knew what I was thinking and momentarily he too became emotional. It was “the” moment of the ceremony for me. In that moment God’s grace and love shone through. It was all over in ten seconds, but in God’s time a lot can happen in ten seconds.
Give thanks to the Lord for he is good. His love endures forever.
Accidentally Like A Martyr
It’s amazing how it works. A song by someone who you have known of and never really cared for starts to burn into your consciousness. It was the chorus that pulled me in. “We made mad love, shadow love, random love and abandoned love, accidently like a martyr!”
I was never a fan of Warren Zevon, although a lot of people I like loved him. I had even heard Accidentally Like Martyr sung by Bob Dylan. That’s a pretty big endorsement. Dylan even played on one of his albums. A few years ago he was diagnosed with cancer. It was said there was no cure and this proved to be correct. Before he left he gathered all his friends around to produce on last album. From Dylan through Springsteen he produced an album called Wind, which was both inspirational and uplifting. I defy anyone to listen to his version of Knocking On Heaven’s Door without a tear in their eye. When man who is looking into the abyss sings a song like that it takes on a new depth. The album closes with a song for his children and young grandchildren, called Keep Me In Your Heart. Warren finished the race with Style. His songs will always be sung and stories about his wild days will be told while those who remember him are still around.
Such an excitable boy.
Monday, 19 March 2012
Grace
This morning I was talking about those marginalized people who are outside the church. Those people who we pidgin hole and call names. I spoke this morning about the need to see them as people God is interested in. I said that it was impossible to meet someone who God was not interested in. I suppose the notion I was trying to put across was that if we saw the benefit in someone through God’s eyes then perhaps it would be easier to have the courage to take the chance in reaching out to those who let’s be honest we find easier to reject. My Friend Dr. Scott Boldt from the United States who runs the Embrace Charity always finds out and remembers people’s Christian names. He said it is amazing how your attitude changes when you know someone’s Christian name.
This is a lovely notion and one that is easier to talk about than it is to put into practice.
While I was saying these words our daughter was being mugged in Belfast. She is unhurt but very shaken up.
I had said goodbye to her just before I came over to church. She had come down yesterday proudly showing me her new iPhone that she has saved for. She was having so much fun with it. As she sat in the bus station with the phone in her lap sending a text a young man reached over and snatched it from her, ripping the earphones out of her ears. She screamed very loudly and gave chase, but thankfully he got away. I dread to think what may have happened to her if she had caught up with him. She and I have had a conversation about chasing thieves.
I was talking to Frank when She called me on someone else’s phone to tell me what had happened. A very nice Irish lady had come to her aid and had secured her bag when Maggie was chasing this guy. I have been able to speak to this lady and thank her for kindness.
Now I tell you this because within a few moments of preaching this morning’s sermon I was calling this thief some very unpleasant names. I called the phone hoping to have a word in his ear, thankfully he didn’t answer.
As my blood pressure started to fall I started to think that this thief was someone God was interested in. This thief was part of the whomsoever that we had been talking about this morning. This young man who I have been calling a thief since I started talk to this evening is someone to whom the offer of Grace is available. This young man is someone in need of forgiveness. Yet my first reaction was one of anger and vengeance. Maggie is shook up, but unhurt and yet I was livid.
I have a long way to go when it comes to Grace.
I have been thinking about this all afternoon. It is so easy to demand forgiveness in others yet so hard to do it on a personal level.
I remember when I was involved in politics in the early stages of the peace process I demanded that Unionists talk to Sinn Fein. I would hurang them for their lack of outreach. Then one evening on a very busy flight from London I was sitting in business class waiting for the door to be closed. It was announced that the plane was being held for two late passengers. I knew that there were only two seats available, one at the front and one beside me. I moved into the window seat to allow one of the late-comers easy access. Soon the two men walked in. It was Gerry Adams and Martin McGuiness.
It must have taken them all of fifteen second to walk down the aisle, but in that moment I died a thousand deaths. I was horrified at the though of sitting beside either of these men. They stopped half way down and both entered a row, which I hadn’t noticed had three seats in it. It was easy to make demands of others, but almost impossible for me to make the smallest gesture. Like sitting beside someone.
A few years later I was sitting with David Irvine in his office at Stormount discussing how best to muster government support in light of Bombardier announcing 2000 redundancies. With me was My Full Time Union Official and the chairman of our Aircraft Committee. Michael was a catholic from West Belfast He had gone to meet Irvine without a second thought. When we left the meeting Our Official said we are meeting the Shinners in Connoly house tomorrow at eleven. I said I can’t. I can’t walk into Connoly house. I can’t sit down with Gerry Adams. I just can’t do it. There is too much hurt and too much pain for me to do that. My Union Official was looking at me as If I had grown another head. After a bit of a heated discussion he told me I should be ashamed of myself. And I was and I admitted I was. Michael told me not to worry as he would go. He said we do as much as we can and no one can ask for more than that. He showed such grace in his words.
When we think of how must God must feel about the hurt and pain we have caused him. He chooses, not to destroy us, but to give us a way out. He sends his son to be a sacrifice for us.
He watches as we who are his creation destroy the son he sent to save us. He has watched for two thousand years as mankind has continued to misbehave in ever more inventive ways. Now we threaten his very creation. Yet still he says come. Still he says your sins are forgiven to those who seek his forgiveness.
As I said this morning under the names we call people, Rapist Murderer, Thief there is a person. A person with a soul. A person in need of Jesus Christ. When Maggie got home from the police station she called to let us know what had happened since we last spoke to her. She told me the Police Officer asked if she wanted to press charges. She said she didn’t know. She said to me I have to forgive this man and I think I can. I’m angry and shakey, but I think I will be able to do that. She was reaching for the Grace that the gospel demands from us. She was doing better than her old man was.
This is a lovely notion and one that is easier to talk about than it is to put into practice.
While I was saying these words our daughter was being mugged in Belfast. She is unhurt but very shaken up.
I had said goodbye to her just before I came over to church. She had come down yesterday proudly showing me her new iPhone that she has saved for. She was having so much fun with it. As she sat in the bus station with the phone in her lap sending a text a young man reached over and snatched it from her, ripping the earphones out of her ears. She screamed very loudly and gave chase, but thankfully he got away. I dread to think what may have happened to her if she had caught up with him. She and I have had a conversation about chasing thieves.
I was talking to Frank when She called me on someone else’s phone to tell me what had happened. A very nice Irish lady had come to her aid and had secured her bag when Maggie was chasing this guy. I have been able to speak to this lady and thank her for kindness.
Now I tell you this because within a few moments of preaching this morning’s sermon I was calling this thief some very unpleasant names. I called the phone hoping to have a word in his ear, thankfully he didn’t answer.
As my blood pressure started to fall I started to think that this thief was someone God was interested in. This thief was part of the whomsoever that we had been talking about this morning. This young man who I have been calling a thief since I started talk to this evening is someone to whom the offer of Grace is available. This young man is someone in need of forgiveness. Yet my first reaction was one of anger and vengeance. Maggie is shook up, but unhurt and yet I was livid.
I have a long way to go when it comes to Grace.
I have been thinking about this all afternoon. It is so easy to demand forgiveness in others yet so hard to do it on a personal level.
I remember when I was involved in politics in the early stages of the peace process I demanded that Unionists talk to Sinn Fein. I would hurang them for their lack of outreach. Then one evening on a very busy flight from London I was sitting in business class waiting for the door to be closed. It was announced that the plane was being held for two late passengers. I knew that there were only two seats available, one at the front and one beside me. I moved into the window seat to allow one of the late-comers easy access. Soon the two men walked in. It was Gerry Adams and Martin McGuiness.
It must have taken them all of fifteen second to walk down the aisle, but in that moment I died a thousand deaths. I was horrified at the though of sitting beside either of these men. They stopped half way down and both entered a row, which I hadn’t noticed had three seats in it. It was easy to make demands of others, but almost impossible for me to make the smallest gesture. Like sitting beside someone.
A few years later I was sitting with David Irvine in his office at Stormount discussing how best to muster government support in light of Bombardier announcing 2000 redundancies. With me was My Full Time Union Official and the chairman of our Aircraft Committee. Michael was a catholic from West Belfast He had gone to meet Irvine without a second thought. When we left the meeting Our Official said we are meeting the Shinners in Connoly house tomorrow at eleven. I said I can’t. I can’t walk into Connoly house. I can’t sit down with Gerry Adams. I just can’t do it. There is too much hurt and too much pain for me to do that. My Union Official was looking at me as If I had grown another head. After a bit of a heated discussion he told me I should be ashamed of myself. And I was and I admitted I was. Michael told me not to worry as he would go. He said we do as much as we can and no one can ask for more than that. He showed such grace in his words.
When we think of how must God must feel about the hurt and pain we have caused him. He chooses, not to destroy us, but to give us a way out. He sends his son to be a sacrifice for us.
He watches as we who are his creation destroy the son he sent to save us. He has watched for two thousand years as mankind has continued to misbehave in ever more inventive ways. Now we threaten his very creation. Yet still he says come. Still he says your sins are forgiven to those who seek his forgiveness.
As I said this morning under the names we call people, Rapist Murderer, Thief there is a person. A person with a soul. A person in need of Jesus Christ. When Maggie got home from the police station she called to let us know what had happened since we last spoke to her. She told me the Police Officer asked if she wanted to press charges. She said she didn’t know. She said to me I have to forgive this man and I think I can. I’m angry and shakey, but I think I will be able to do that. She was reaching for the Grace that the gospel demands from us. She was doing better than her old man was.
Friday, 10 September 2010
Tangled Up In Blue
It was a Saturday afternoon and I was in my Father’s car. He had just bought this really fabulous metallic green special edition Ford Escort. This was so unlike my modest dad. This thing was a flying machine and had dials all over the place. It was one cool car, tan leather bucket seats and wide wheels! Like I said so unlike my Dad. Best of all he told me it was time to learn to drive and I was going to learn in this car! It was the summer my world turned into bright colour. As exciting being in this car was, it wasn’t the dream of driving this car that had an affect on me, it was the words that came tumbling out of the car’s speakers.
Early one mornin’ the sun was shinin’ I was layin’ in bed Wond’rin’ if she’d changed at all If her hair was still red Her folks they said our lives together Sure was gonna be rough They never did like Mama’s homemade dress Papa’s bankbook wasn’t big enough.
I had never heard words like this in a song before and certainly not in a song being played on Radio One! Suddenly the colours of the world outside the car became vivid. It was like someone had flipped a switch in my head. Dylan said that his wife never understood him after he took an art course prior to writing this album. The effect of time shifting and multi-dimensional views affected his thinking from then on. Dylan was never really happy with the finished result and has attempted on several occasions to get it right. The version I heard that day was the second attempt at the song, but was further from what he had originally intended. The first version recorded in New York wouldn’t be released until the 80’s on the Biograph collection.
When Dylan sang the song at Slane in 84 it had very different words and a different tempo. He told Jonathan Cott in a Rolling Stone Interview in 1978” "What's different about it is that there's a code in the lyrics, and there's also no sense of time. There's no respect for it. You've got yesterday, today and tomorrow all in the same room, and there's very little you can't imagine not happening"
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
