It seems that Psalm 116, one of the Hallel psalms, in which we hear of 'lifting up the cup of salvation' and make mental links to the cup of wine that Jesus shared with his followers (a legitimate link, since the psalm probably would have been sung/chanted during the Passover Seder) may well have originally been composed as part of a purification ritual, possibly following illness or other 'uncleanliness'.

In our reflection yesterday, we noted that the trajectory of the psalm, which is one of gratitude though not celebration, is roughly thus:

• Life was really awful and in desperation I cried out to God 'save me'
• Life got better/I recovered and now I give thanks to God (in the presence of others, maybe in a ritual)
• Because God has been good to me, I rededicate myself to God and ask myself 'what now can I do for God?'

How we hear such a psalm will of course depend how life is for us.

If life is [expletive deleted] then the permission it gives us to cry or shout at God is important - 'for goodness sake, God, do something!'

If we have come out of the other side of a difficult time, it reminds us of the importance of gratitude.  The ritualised re-integration of formerly 'unclean' persons is something that thankfully we don't do.  But even so, at a personal level, saying 'thank you' to those who have 'been there' in whatever way, and to the God who is always there (even if seemingly silent or asleep), is important for our own well-being and humanity.

And now what?  What difference does it make to have come through this?  What will we 'do' as a result of experiencing God's goodness, directly, or in and through others?  Perhaps it is something overtly spiritual.  Perhaps it's something practical.  Perhaps it is to re-evaluate our priorities.  Perhaps it is to be kinder to ourselves or to others.  There is no 'one size fits all', no single 'right' answer. 

God has 'saved' me (from xyz), I am grateful and so I will rededicate myself to God's service by doing/being abc.

At a personal level, the last few months have been difficult.  Since my Mum's death in May, another four people who, to some measure, were important to me, have also died.  There has been a lot of death, a lot of practical stuff to get done, and a lot of private/personal stuff to work through. I am glad that I made the choice to seek professional help from a counsellor who has suggested strategies and techniques that have proved effective (if a times very hard work!).  I am content that I have been open about this, at least to those who read this stuff.  Now that I feel as if I am beginning to come out of the other side of a painful and lonely place, comes the 'so what?'  If God has 'saved me from' - I prefer, travelled with me through, but the intent is broadly the same - whatever aspect(s) of grief it has been; if I am grateful and if I rededicate myself to God's service, what then does it mean?  On this occasion, I am clear that the answer lies in self-care - not more stuff to do for others, not more study, not more reflection even, just being kinder to me... and trust me, that's a big commitment!! :-)

Yesterday we thought about 'psalms for special occasions' with a focus on the Ascent Psalms (121 - 134) and Hallel Psalms (113 - 118).  From these we focused on Psalms 131 and 116, in that order.

Psalm 131 is a very short psalm at the heart of which is a beautiful image - a weaned child (so somewhere between six months and five years of age) snuggled up with their mother.  This is how the psalmist imagines himself (almost certainly a 'he') in the presence of God.

The language of the psalm merits careful reflection.

It is the psalmist who has done the stilling and quieting, not the mother who has comforted him... the 'be still' or 'desist' of Psalm 46 is possibly more familiar, with God saying, 'stop what you are doing this instant'.  Snuggling up to mother-God, the psalmist stops wriggling, stops worrying, stops doing or thinking, and just enjoys the moment.  'I have stilled and quieted myself' he says... I have chosen this state of being.

For sure, that this is so means that God is snuggle-up-to-able, safe, welcoming, accepting - you wouldn't do this (or not more than once or twice) with someone who might push you away or shout at you for disturbing their peace.  But it is about the writer consciously choosing and acting in order to enjoy that safe embrace.

As someone with a tendency to be busy, it was/is helpful to reflect on this image/metaphor and to remind myself that mother-God is waiting for this weaned child (i.e. not a baby, but someone growing in autonomy and self) to decide to come and snuggle up, not necessarily to say anything, but simply to enjoy the moment.

This afternoon was our first Bible Study Group meeting of the term - and it felt very positive. Iranian, Cuban and British participants, aged 6 to 90-something (the two children mostly enjoyed some Bible-based colouring).  We had some good conversations and opened up some ideas around discipleship, joy and God's faithfulness.  The image of God,  as a parent who never lets go of us, even if we withdraw our hand, stumble, rebel or anything else, was powerful and helpful.

Looking forward to the next meeting in a fortnight and possibly a few other folk able to join us.

Thank you to W and G for your support in getting this group up and running.

A couple of interesting, and quotable, quotes I found this morning when preparing for this afternoon's Drop In and interative reflection (both from a book called 'Wearing God' by Lauren Winner).  Please ignore any typos.

"The child became a man and the man became a preacher whose sermons were full of commonplace things: seeds and nets, coins and fishes, lilies of the field, and birds of the air.  Wherever he was, he had a knack for looking around him and weaving what he saw into his sermons, whether it was sparrows for sale in the marketplace, labourers lining up for their pay, or a woman glimpsed through a doorway kneading her family’s bread… ‘the kingdom of heaven is like this”, he said over and over again, comparing things they knew with something they knew nothing about and all of the sudden what they knew had cracks in it, cracks they had never noticed before, through which they glimpsed bright and sometimes frightening new realities… Every created thing was fraught with divine possibility; wasn’t that what he was telling them?  Every ho-hum details of their days was a bread crumb leading them into the presence of God, if they would just pick up the trail and follow."

Barbara Brown Taylor

“My God, my God, thou art a direct God, may I not say a literal God, a God that wouldst be understood literally and according to the plain sense of all thou sayest, but thou art also (Lord, I intend it to thy glory, and let no profane misinterpreter abuse it to thy dimunition), thou art a figurative, a metaphorical God too, a God in whose words there is such a height of figures, such voyages, such peregrinations to fetch remote and precious metaphors, such extensions, such spreadings, such curtains of allegories, such third heavens of hyperboles, so harmonious elocutions, so retired and so reserved expressions, so commanding persuasions, so persuading commandments, such sinews even in thy milk, and such things in thy words, as all profane authors seem of the seed of the serpent that creeps, thou art the Dove that flies.”

John Donne