Half way through!

Today's topic is that of 'mystery.' I don't think there's much I can say about mystery that I haven't said umpteen times before - it's not a shoulder-shrugging not knowing, rather it is a beyond words knowing; it's not a get out  when I don't understand, rather it is beyond articulation comprehension.

So a short post today!

And here's the prayer from the book:

Mysterious, unfathomable God, may I live in the awareenss of your presence every day.  As I go about my every day, may I know the presence of Christ in me, my hope of glory. Amen.

St Patrick's breasplate. I recall learning this when in my teens.  I loved it then.  I love it now.

The idea of binding to (or around) oneself the name of the Trinity, which is strong, faith in Christ, which is powerful, and so on, is an incredible image.

It's tricky to find contemporary imagery that captures the essence of the breastplate - somehow a stab vest or bullet proof vest, which would be a literal equivalent, doesn't really help me much.  Even binding, for some, has very negative connotations.  However, the idea of binding as a protective covering - whether it's a bandage on an injury or a cover on a book - is actually a very positive image.

To wrap myself around in a cocoon of God's grace, mercy and love - that seems a good idea, a positive image on a world of fear and danger.  Perhaps it's like swaddling a baby, of wrapping up warm on a cold winter's day - both of which are quite appropriate images at this time of year.

Today the books offers us, for prayer, an extract from St Patrick's breastplate:

I bind unto myself today the strong name of the Trinity, by invocation of the same, the three-in-one and one-in-three.

I bind this day to me forever, by power of faith Christ's incarnation, his baptism in the Jordan river, his death on cross for my salvation; his bursting from the spiced tomb, his riding up the heavenly way, his coming at the day of doom, I bind unto myself today.

After a bit of hunting, I 

This afternoon I went with two friends to the Purrple Cat Cafe in central Glasgow.  Most of the cats were asleep most of the time.  Even so, we enjoyed a tasty afternoon "kittea", some god chat and managed to photograph a fair few kitties.

Advent can be a bit like that, I guess - we set out with ideas in mind and then it's perhaps not quite what we expected.  This doesn't invalidate it, or mean it is lesser, it's just different. 

It was lovely to spend some time relaxing with friends, entertaining to watch such cats as were awake playing, fun to play 'spot the cat' as they have all sorts of hiding places, and good to chat.  The afternoon tea was tasty - and the scones ENORMOUS, so much so we took our, not exactly tiny, slices of cake home with us.

Whatever Advent might look like this year, hopefully when we reach it's end, we can look back and say, yes, that was good.

Our service this morning - quite a colourful array at the front.

The candle of Hope. A little tree with a 'hope' decoration. The leftovers from communion. And the coloured scarves - red for Rahab, green for Ruth and blue for Mary.

We also sang this song, which I first came across more than a decade ago, and which we sang to the tune 'Sally Gardens'...

There is a line of women, extending back to Eve
Whose role in shaping history God only could conceive
And though, through endless ages, their witness was repressed
God valued and encouraged then through whom the world was blessed

So sing a song of Sarah to laughter she gave birth
And sing a song of Tamar who stood for women’s worth
And sing a song of Hannah who bargained with her Lord
And sing a song of Mary who bore and bred God’s Word

There is a line of women who took on powerful men
Defying laws and scruples to let life live again
And though, despite their triumph, their stories stayed untold
God kept their number growing, creative strong and bold

So sing a song of Shiphrah with Puah in her hand
Engaged to kill male children they foiled the king’s command
And sing a song of Rahab who sheltered spies and lied
And sing a song of Esther, preventing genocide

There is a line of women who stood by Jesus’ side
Who housed him while he ministered and held him when he died
And though they claimed he’d risen their news was deemed suspect
Till Jesus stood among them, his womanly elect

So sing a song of Anna who saw Christ’s infant face
And sing a song of Martha who gave him food and space
And sing of all the Marys who heeded his requests
And now at heaven’s banquet are Jesus’ fondest guests.

John Bell (c) John Bell, WGRG, Iona Community

Today is the first Sunday in Advent, and we will light our first candle, the candle that represents hope.

On Friday afternoon, at our drop in for vulnerable adults, M led our devotions and focused our thoughts on hope, and the idea of the rainbow, God's covenant promise, as a symbol of hope. It was a lovely, and moving act of worship.

Having begun my Advent pondering earlier than usual, with the Celtic Advent, I have already been thinking what it means to speak of Advent hope.

Hope in the deepening darkness of a northern hemisphere winter, as the daylight continues to decrease, that soon this will change, that light will return.

Hope in the metaphorical darkness of bereavement, illness, relationship breakdown, job loss, financial struggle, that things will get better, that 'the light at the end of the tunnel' has not, after all, 'been switched off'

But what is hope? Hope is tenacious (stubborn), resilient (stubborn), determined (you guessed it...).

Hope is a refusal to give up even when it feels that everything is hope-less. When the answer to prayer seems never to arrive. When the struggle feels endless. When disappointment or despair drive us to the brink .

Hope is a small word. It is also a weighty word.

Hope, for me, is well summed up as 'tracing rainbows through the rain'. 

Today, we will light the candle of hope, and we will remember Abraham and Sarah, a couple who left their home on what must have seemed a fool's errand, trusting in the God who makes rainbows to fulfill seemingly impossible promises.  A journey that lasted the rest of their lives. A journey in which disappointment, despair and disaster were all experienced. 

I am reminded of a line from another old hymn that speaks of the challenges of real life and says 'that through it all hope's star shall shine, and I shall have my song to sing.'

God of hope, who, when all seems overwhelming or even hope-less

Fill us afresh with hope, glimpsed in the colourful defiance of a rainbow

Shining like a tiny star in the darkest of dark nights

And journey with us, wherever you lead us

Until we reach the place of your promise for us.

Amen