Today has a definite 'feel good' edge to it.

It began with "sparkly gingerbread latte cake"* and coffee and a great chat

It continued with the postman bringing me a new book to read

It will conclude with dinner with a couple I married almost a year ago

Very blessed indeed.

* three layers of cake: coffee, gingerbread, vanilla; sandwiched with butter cream and topped with sparkly sprinkles!  Decadent and yummy!  Must have a go myself sometime.

A rather odd collection of material today - these ancient scrolls certainly seem to be more like a 'patchwork' than a systematic record.

Red Heifer

Reading this part of the narrative sparked memories for me of a time, more than a decade ago, when I reflected on this ritual in conjunction with the more familiar (if often not accurately recalled) account of the scapegoat.  At the time I noted that the heifer is slaughtered whereas the scapegoat is sent, alive into the wilderness to carry away sin.

The red heifer rite is concerned with ritual cleansing after contact with a corpse.  The ashes, mixed with 'living water' - spring water rather than collected rain water - are sprinkled on contaminated people or items to bring about cleansing.

Theologians see some parallels with baptism, and certainly there are some broad similarities to the sprinkling with 'holy water' of people and objects carried out in Catholic and Orthodox traditions.

Whilst we would not consider anyone or anything defiled by the contact with or of a corpse, it is fair to say that we value rituals to help us move forward after a death.  Funerals as we know them did not exist until comparatively recently, and they have certainly evolved enormously in the time that I've been conducting such services.

"Last rites" by a priest, and "last offices" by a nurse (or in some faiths by appointed people), are rituals that remain even in a secular age.  Rituals for the living, apart from funerals, are not part of my experience.  So I am left wondering what might be gained or lost with other practices.

Miriam and Aaron

In the course of a few paragraphs, both Miriam and Aaron die, seemingly of old age, and each is buried.

Miriam's death is recorded with minimal detail, she dies at Kadesh and is buried there. 

Aaron's death is preceded by the ceremonial passing on of his office to his son Eleazar, in a private ceremony on Mount Hor, at the edge of Edom.  This death triggers thirty days of mourning.

Had it not been for Miriam, the story would be totally different - it was she who kept watch over her baby brother, hidden in the rushes; she who spoke to Pharaoh's daughter; she who enlisted her own mother to nurse and wean the child.  It was Miriam who led the women in celebrating the crossing of the Red Sea.  It was Miriam who bore in her body the consequences of hers and Aaron's actions.

There is no funeral, no eulogy, just a burial by persons unknown, who later had to perform a ritual cleansing before being allowed back 'in'.

There is no funeral or eulogy for Aaron either; he, too, is buried without ceremony, laid to rest by unknown hands.  But his is deemed a signifcant death, so much so that a month of national mourning ensues. 

Nowadays it often seems to me that national outpourings of grief arise almost at the drop of a hat - some minor celebrity, or some long retired singer or actor dies, often at a decent age, and suddenly flowers are left at 'shrines' and there is much pulbic expression of grief.  Perhaps I'm unfair... maybe these deaths and the responses they generate trigger something deep for some people.  Perhaps in a culture that has clinicalised death, and that increasingly minimises the 'committal' element of funeral rites whilst maximising the "celebration", people are meeting an inner need for ritual, for outward expression of inner feelings.  Perhaps it is 'safer' or 'easier' to be part of a shared public expression of grief than to be open about the agonies of personal loss?

Polite Request

The people need to pass through Edom, so Moses does the sensible thing and contacts the authorities to request safe passage.  When this is denied, he asks a second time, offering reassurances that the people will pay their way.

In what we know to be a bloody and violent story, this seems an important detail.  It makes good sense, and doesn't require any comment, save to note that it is there, and that someone considered it worth recording.

A Familiar Pattern...

Another account of the people experiencing difficulty and grumbling about their lot.  The spies had spoken of a rich land, had brought back grapes, figs and pomegranates but this land is dry and barren, nothing will grow here!

Moses is furious!  Thus far he has done as God told him and has more than once begged God not to destroy the people.  This time his frustration and anger finds outward expression.  Instructed by God to hold the staff and command water from the rock, he goes further, hitting the rock twice and causing water to gush from it.

This one act, the product of frustration, fatigue, disillusionment or whatever, hardly seems to warrant the consequences that ensue - lack of trust in God means that neither Moses or Aaron will enter the Land of the Promise.

Perhaps, because these stories are all written looking backwards, what we see is an attempt to make sense of a sad reality.  When Moses died before journey's end, maybe attempts were made to make sense of this - it hardly seems fair that after all he had done he didn't get there.  Maybe he had angered God.  Perhaps people recalled times when they had, collectively, made life difficult for Moses, times when he had shown his less lovely side, becoming angry, acting rashly.  Possibly such reflection led them to deduce that God had denied Moses the achievement of the goal, and that somehow the responsibility lay with him alone.

I find myself wondering about the stories told of powerful leaders in our own time, and how readily they are identified as 'good' or 'bad', and how they are usually accorded full responsibility for the public expression of their actions and words... There will always be unwritten, untold stories of what went on behind the scenes, of the struggles and frustrations they encountered along the way, always indivduals or groups whose words or actions have contributed, for good or ill, to the overall story.  Probably not every story is 'redeemable', certainly some stories are horrific and the people described apparently wicked.  At the same time, I choose to believe that no-one is all bad or beyond the touch of God's redemptive grace...

Rather a lot of death and dying today.  But even so some things worth pondering.

This morning I did something that, for me anyway, is unusual, I listened to three sermons back-to-back.  Three preachers, three personalities, three approaches, three texts/topics.  Each of three held my attention, each had something to say to me, each was the result of a lot of hard work, thought and prayer.  I'm not going to write loads about any of them, just a few thoughts that struck me as I listened.

Learning from King David

The first sermon was centred on Psalm 27 and was an exploration of what might be learned from reflecting on David, shepherd, psalmist and king.

Of the three sermons, this was the one that spoke to me the most strongly, the one "I needed to hear", with its focus on what, and how, we choose to think about and how that affects us.  As someone who worries and over-reflects, and as someone who is all too aware of her ability to say the wrong thing, it was good to be invited to ask myself what it is I reflect on and where my focus is directed in such remembering.  Is my 'inner narrative' life-affirming or death-dealing (my phrases)?  Do I turn things over and over, or do I consciously,  deliberately seek God, to help make sense of things, to confess, to celebrate, to realign myself?

The preacher spoke of remembering well, noting that it is "good to trace the touch of God in our lives" - which felt like a timely reminder to think of good things, not to lament failures.

The closing thought, which is one I will chew on further was "what could you say to yourself better?"  I sort of know the answer, I just need to get on and do it!

Prodigals All

The second sermon focussed on the parable often called "The Prodigal Son" and was inspired by the reflection on it by Henri Nouwen, which in turn centres on the Rembrandt painting, reproduced above.

The book and the painting are very well known, and I have heard sermons arising from each.  The preacher said, as every preacher who has used it has said before them "you really must read this book" - and so, finally, I will.

The sense of 'home', of being who it is we are created to be, knowing and experiencing our true identity as children of God, was one that I found helpful, since it is not related to a physical location but to a sense of being.

The sermon explored many interesting ideas: 'sin' as leaving 'home'; leaving 'home' as a denial of our true identity; the potential for disappointment in God's grace for others; whether we perceive ourselves more as 'younger' or 'older' sons.

What struck me was the idea that the elder son had adopted a 'servant mentality' rather than a 'son mentality' and that this had led to him becoming embittered.  I suppose I felt a sense of resonance, not in terms of my relationship with God per se, but in how I can become very dutiful to the exclusion of delighting in who I am.  I don't think I'm bitter or envious of others, but I probably could do with lightening up a bit!!

The preacher asked whether we are guilty of looking at others and thinking "they aren't as good as me", which was a good question. I was struck, though, that I am as likely, maybe more, to look at others and think "they are so much better than me" - the "imposter syndrome" that fears being exposed for who we really are behind our carefully constructed facades of competence or respectability.  Perhaps what we see in the older son might be what happens when those facades come tumbling down, when our fear seems to be realised, at least in terms of our inner desire to know that we are valued.  I've always been far more an 'elder son' dutiful, obedient and sometimes perhaps a bit passive aggressive.  Perhaps the 'sin', the 'leaving home', of which I need to return is to value myself just as I am.

Turn or Burn!

This was NOT the message of sermon number three, though it was mentioned as one of the parodies of Christianity that abound.

Sometimes the lectionary throws up some difficult passages, and the preacher who bravely gets on and preaches on them deserves to be applauded.  This was one such Sunday, with a gospel passage I recall wrestling with when I was involved in the "children's liturgy group" (Sunday School by any other name) of the RC church I worked with as a student.  If Luke 13: 1 - 9 isn't bad enough, add on 1 Corinthians 10: 1 - 13 and you have taken on one huge challenge.

The sermon rightly reminded the hearer that praying the 'magic' prayer and being baptised are not the end of the story; maybe not even the story at all I'd suggest.  Repentance, which was the key theme here, is ongoing and challenging.  Our faith is not about getting "a ticket out of here" but about living authentically in the 'now and not yet'.  The preacher rightly noted that the two passages here are directed at disicples, believers, people who have made some sort of commitment to follow Jesus and, even if we have a "once saved, always saved" theology they are scary words.

An important sub-theme of this sermon was about 'choice' - possibly (I don't know, this is pure surmise) a response to some expressions of neo-hyper-Calvinism that can be found in this part of the world.  As believers in Jesus, we still have freedom of choice, to do good or ill, to build up or to tear down - it is what we choose that matters.  The sermon culminated in identifying a choice we are invited to make: "today I desire to be like Christ".  I think that's a good motto, mantra, aspiration, resolution.

Drawing the threads together

Three stand alone sermons, each with its own distinct focus and message, yet each able to "dialogue" with the others as I listen trying to detect a hint of God's voice speaking to me.

Today, I desire to be like Christ...

In Christ, I find my true identity, my sense of 'home'...

And being at 'home' enables me to remember more kindly, and speak to myself better, as I reflect on the highs and the lows of my ongoing journey of faith.

As a rule I wouldn't recommend listening to three sermons back to back, but today I'm glad I did, because it does feel that somewhere in it all I heard the "still small voice" of God's reassuring presence.

I don't think I've ever been aware of this day, or if I have, it has pretty much passed me by.  So the fact that it has been marked for a century and is still judged relevant is a bit of a sad indictment on the western societies that are doing so.

Social media is awash with mentions of inspirational women, of pioneers, of women who were great and good, and also of mothers, wives, sisters and friends, teachers (in schools and Sunday schools) missionaries and so forth.  Activist groups are asking for signatures on this or that petition, charities for money to suport women's aid programmes.

Last week I had the privilege of conducting a funeral service for a very elderly woman who had spent ten years serving as a misisonary in what it is now Bangladesh.  As I read the material provided from the archives of the Missionary Society she served, I found myself wondering what became of the women and girls whose lives she touched.  Some she taught to read and write, with others she shared her faith with in rallies and other acts of worship.  I am sure there were, and maybe still are, people who look back and recall with affection this woman who affirmed their worth and encouraged their flourishing.

I could list the names of the women (and men) who have inspired and encouraged me in my own life-journey thus far.  Some, for sure, are the great and the good, the women whose stories I heard or read and was inspired to emulate.  But more, most, the ordinary everyday women whose names will never be in the history books but who, as well as holding up half the sky, are central, and essential, to the ongoing story of humankind.

It would be lovely to think that, in a century from now, someone might stumble across a mention of International Women's Day and think 'how quaint' before discovering the reality that in 2016 there is still one heck of a way to go, especially in the two-thirds world (if that's not too archaic a term) where most women won't even know that today has any significance and will be grateful just to get to the end of it...

Today's chunk of text follows on from the mumbling and grumbling about who was 'holy' and involves a strange ritual whereby the head of each tribe marks a staff with his name, and the twelve are left overnight in the tent of meeting.  Unsurprisingly, it is Aaron's staff that buds, blossoms and bears almonds - an undeniable sign of favour, being utterly improbable and evidently supernatural.  If you are curious to read more about the staff, then good old wikipedia is as good a place as any, here.  There is also mention of this being a "covenant of salt" - a phrase I don't think I'd ever spotted before, and one that I had no idea what it meant.  A quick interweb search suggests no-one else really knows either, though there are many attempts both Jewish and Christian to find a useful meaing (type it into a search engine and see where it takes you!)...

Two things struck me that I wanted to ponder a little today.

A Gift

God is recorded as saying "I give you priesthood as a gift" - words spoken to Aaron regarding himself and his sons.  But what does that mean?

Is this gift given to Aaron and the Levites?  Or is it a gift given to the whole people of Israel?

Is it a gift, as in a present, or is it a charism, a supernatural anointing or a natural gifting?

Or is it all of these?

Priesthood has many meanings and the word carries a lot of baggage, but what might it mean that this is a love-gift from God, something intended to bless and encourage, to enrich rather than to control?

Can the "Priesthood of all Believers", of which we speak so freely, be described as such a 'gift' - something special that God gives for our benefit?

Can it be, too, that the "gift of priesthood" is seen in the skills, talents, personalities and so on that we each possess and express, at least in some small measure? 

If you are my priest, and I am yours, and we are each others, what does that look like?  How does it find expression?

Perhaps it's enough for now to recongise that this is something very special, to be valued and exercised accordingly.

La creme de la creme

The Levites are excluded from undertaking any form of employment that would make them self-sufficient - no crop growing, no animal husbandry, no crafts-work... (whether their women were allowed to spin or weave is not clear, but possibly not).  Instead, they are granted the material benefit of the tithes and offerings brought by the people - a tenth of all the produce and animals (and money?) is theirs.  And this is to be the very best that the people can offer - offer to God the very best you have, knowing that the practical benefit is enjoyed by those entrusted with the spiritual life of the nation.

The Levites are not exempted from the process though.  They are to select the 'best of the best' and offer that to God, and only then may they enjoy what remains.

When I was a student training for ministry, I had a friend who chose to give me the tithe from her overtime pay, knowing that I was 'living by faith' and had no regular income.  Every now and then cheques would arrive, sometimes for £10, occasionally as much as £40, she took her promise very seriously indeed.  And I would then tithe the tithe - a pound in a charity box, a few pounds in a special collection, a gift to someone else or whatever seemed appropriate.  I don't think I ever saw it as "the best of the best" but it felt like the right thing to do.

I don't always give away a precise tithe either of my formal income or any financial gifts, but I do make sure I recognise the blessing and give away a realistic proportion.

But what if we are now all priests?  What if everyone should benefit from the "best of the best"?  Does that mean we, as did some of the earliest churches, have a common purse, "holding everything in common"?  Does it mean, as some intentional communities do today, that we hold each other accountable for our spending, not buying a car or a holiday or consumer goods without first discussing it in community?  Would I want to have to record how much I spend on skinny lattes or cat treats, and have that weighed against what I give to church, to charities and good causes?  And would I have the audacity to ask anyone else to do the same?

Some seriously challenging stuff here for me to go away and ponder!