This afternoon I have been doing my background reading for the last of my three re-visits to well-loved tales from the gospels.  This Sunday we will be looking at the series of three 'lost and found' parables in Luke 15.  Reading them through I was struck very clearly that they are not 'of a piece', the first two, lost sheep and lost coins, operate very differently from the third, often termed 'the prodigal son'.  I had a few ideas of what I might play with arising from it and decided to check the commentaries I have both on Luke and on parables.  Alas or hurray, not sure which, all my ideas had already been had by other people, along with several others.  A key one is that actually this is a story of two sons... 'a man had two sons...' which is pretty obvious when you actually spot it.  I had thought of trying to retell the story from the viewpoint of the elder son because he represents the religious orthodoxy which is, whether we like it or not, what we are as part of the church.  I was going to try to allow him to speak, to justify his anger and then to invite the congrgeation to decide 'what happened next.'  But now I'm not so sure whether that would work.

Instead I am wondering about writing the mother's version - watching her family tear itself apart, sharing her husband's pain and loss, longing for reconciliation between her loyal, obedient but rather bitter and legalistic elder son and his wayward, impetuous but ultimately repentant younger brother.  The tricky bit is of course that the allegorical aspect doesn't then work - if the father is God, the younger son the 'sinners' and the elder son the religious establishment there is no role for the mother to take.  But then part of the beauty of parables is their inherent ambiguity and the impermanence of any interpretation.

If this doesn't work then maybe I'll resort to a normal sermon!

In the last couple of days people have asked me for two lists which they seem to think I maintain - the Girls' Brigade membership list at D+2 and the church membership list at Dibley.  I have now supplied said lists to those requesting them.  Interesting, in updating and handing them over, to reflect on how many poeple I've had contact with these past few years (hundreds though not all on either list) and to wonder what impact on their relationship with God knowing me has had (ulp!).  These people are all part of my history and I part of theirs even if no one ever knows our names and we forget each other.  It reminds me of something that I am told Bonhoeffer said that is important and runs along the lines of 'it doens't matter if our names our recorded in the history books, what matters is that our names are written in the Lamb's book of life.'  I think he's right, and somehow in this statement an appropriate humility is balanced by the assurance of our infinite worth in the eyes of God.

Maybe some Bonhoeffer scholar can give me an exact quote and source?

A good friend of mine has suggested I take a short language course before moving north, and this is her recommended text:

Courtesy of Amazon I have this along with another little book called 'Haud yer Wheesht' and language lessons are now underway.

Interesting to discover which aspects of Glasgwegian lingo my mother has retained after half a century in England, which phrases I don't think are unequivocably Scottish and which mean something quite different in the Midlands.

Nothing like a bit of cultural dissonance on a Sunday morning!

Och weel, I must away to my dinner! ;-)

I arrived at Usahw on Thursday to find that one of the courses running in the confernece part of the facilities was this one.

I hope it doesn't mean what it says!

But the extreme smell of disinfectant on that corridor the next day did leave us wondering...!

And was the power cut on Friday evening an omen, a sign or judgement upon us heretic proddies?  Hmmm.

An interesting couple of days - though not down to the material being presented it has to be said.  Lots to ponder in the next few weeks methinks.

This week at Dibley we are revisiting this miracle of Jesus by trying to see through the eyes of participants.  What might happen if we gave what little we had to the service of Christ without being too logical about possibilities...?

Jesus

We’d been together a while by now, my twelve apprentices and I.  Travelling around from village to village, town to town, we always drew a crowd: people who longed to hear my stories; religious folk wanting to check out that what I said was ‘sound’; sick people who longed to be well; lonely people, marginalised people and outcasts who just wanted to belong.  It was demanding work, tiring, and sometimes I just wanted a bit of space, time to think, time to pray, time to relax.  This day, like so many other days, the crowds who followed us everywhere gathered on the hillside – hundreds, no thousands of them, each one hungry for a new story.  As the time passed it wasn’t only their minds that were hungry – their bellies would soon be rumbling too!  I looked at my closest friends and wondered if they had yet begun to grasp what I was teaching them – I wasn’t sure they had so I asked one of them, Philip, a question, “where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?”

Philip

I was astounded when Jesus asked me that question!  Where would be buy them food?  It was late in the day, we were halfway up a mountain and who knew where the nearest market was to purchase bread or fish to make a simple meal?  And had he really realised how big the crowd was?  Must have been thousands of them, spreading out as far as the eye could see, young and old; men, women and children… I started to work it out… the price of fish, the cost of bread, it would cost…. Well at least 8 months’ wages!  Thousands – just to give them a little snack.

I wonder sometimes about these crazy ideas Jesus has.  He doesn’t always seem well, practical, when it comes down to it.  Things like money or security or family ties, they just don’t seem to be in his list of priorities.  Even time out just for us seems to get squeezed – we set off into the hills for some much needed rest and prayer and then people come and he tells them stories, blesses their babies, heals their infirmities.  It’s wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes he doesn’t seem to understand the limits of what we can do.

Go and spend eight months’ wages on a picnic?  Even if we had the money, which we probably didn’t, though I’d have had to ask Judas to be sure, where would we find that much food at this time of day?  He’s just not very practical is he…?

A Boy

It’d been a great day, running though the grass, chasing my friends, being chased, watching the birds in the sky and gathering flowers to take home for mother.  Best of all had been the stories told to us by the rabbi Jesus.  He wasn’t like other people, he always had good tales to tell – about buried treasure or people who went to far away places – and he seemed to have such wonderful adventures himself.  I was tired by the time we sat down – a long day out in the fresh air had wearied me, and I was ready for my tea.  I opened my pack and took out my bread and fish.

Just as I was about to take the first bite, one of his friends came my way, looked at my food and called out ‘look, here is a boy with five loaves and two fish – but how far will they go among so many?’

I paused, and looked up.  Wow, Jesus was standing just feet away from me!  And it seemed as if he wanted to share my picnic!  What a story that would be to tell mother when I got home.  Quickly I gathered up the food and handed it to the man – Andrew he was called – who passed it to Jesus.

Andrew

Five loaves and a couple of fish – a child’s picnic.  How ridiculous!  That’s what I was saying when I spotted it – Philip is right, Jesus hasn’t a clue about practical matters it seems, a massive crowd, a command to give them a meal and all I can see is a child-sized meal.

He seemed a nice enough lad, still young enough to believe he could change the world, that his dreams would come true, not enough knock-backs yet to realise that life just isn’t like that, that you have to be realistic about your expectations if you want to avoid getting hurt or disillusioned.

But he was so excited!  The very idea that Jesus might want to share his picnic had him up on his feet and rushing to hand it over.  I’m not sure what he thought would happen – maybe that he and Jesus would share tea and a chat and that he’d have something to tell his family when he got home.  But none of us could have imagined what happened next!

Woman in the crowd

Suddenly people gathering in little groups and sitting down on the grass.  It seemed as if the walking was over for a while.  To be honest, I wasn’t sorry to sit down for a bit, it had been a long day.  Higher up the hill something was happening – it looked as if Jesus was holding a loaf in his hand and it sounded as if he was praying.  He broke off a chunk of bread and passed it one of his followers who did the same.  Soon it seemed that everyone was sharing food – bread passing from hand to hand, cooked fish being shared with friend and stranger alike.  I don’t know where it came from – perhaps people had had the foresight to bring picnics and were sharing them, perhaps a miracle was happening as Yahweh once more provided bread for his hungry people.  What I do know is that I had plenty to eat that day, and then when we’d all eaten there was so much left over that people came round with baskets collecting it up to pass on so that it wasn’t wasted.  We began to wonder who this man Jesus was – could he be the Prophet?  Almost as one, we found ourselves wanting him to be our King – perhaps we could make him King and then life would be so much better… but while we were discussing this it seemed he simply walked away.

Philip

I still can’t get my head round it, I’ve no idea what really happened.  All I know is that suddenly everyone was laughing and eating and marvelling at who Jesus was and wanting to make him King and it was all so very exciting… and he just said, right, we’re going now, and off we went.

Leaving the crowd still talking excitedly, we went down to the lakeside while Jesus went away to pray.  We waited ages for him to come but eventually we set sail without him – after all he could always take the coast path and meet us later.  It was hard work rowing through the night, but thankfully the lake was calm, no squalls to worry us. But what happened next certainly did!  Looking up we saw him walking on the top of the lake and saying in that way only he can, ‘don’t be afraid.’  He seems to say that a lot, usually when he’s about to terrify us one way or another.

I’m still trying to make sense of it – it’s impossible to walk on top of water, you just can’t do it.  It’s impossible to feed a whole crowd with a few loaves and a couple of fish.  Yet Jesus did both of these.  I’m not entirely sure I understand why – when the people got excited and wanted to make him their king he walked away, that wasn’t what it was all about.  It’s not about personal gain or personal glory, it seems, but about bringing honour to Yahweh, to God.

The Boy

What a day that was!  I mean, I’m just a child, a nobody, and all I did was share my picnic.  No one will remember my name, no one will known what I’m really like (which is perhaps as well because sometimes I’m actually quite mean and often I get things wrong) but I know and he knows what happened.  I just did what I could.  Some people say that if you pray hard enough and long enough God will make everything right; some people say that God helps those who help themselves.  Me?  I say my prayers, well most of the time anyway, but I think you have to do things too.  All I did was give away one meal – but look what happened when I did!

~ " ~

To him who is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine according to his power, which is at work within us, to him we give our little that he will multiply it greatly to the glory of his name.  Amen