ME

We began our Church's week of prayer last evening.

We're using the chapters of John's gospel set in the Upper Room and this brought us to the very familiar words of John 14.  Or so we thought.

But more than one of us was struck by the simple phrase said by Jesus to his disciples, "You believe in God; believe also in me."  It is so simple and yet so profound.  How easy it is to associate the Christian faith with a great deal of activity or an accumulation of knowledge or family connections or heritage or musical inclinations or local meetings in a community.

It is about Him.  It is about trusting Him.  It is as available on the deathbed as the Sunday school, in the workplace or the clinic on the aircraft in the pulpit.  

You can be a Christian if needs must without almost everything - just not without Him.  The disciples' Passion Week mistakes centred on the catastrophic decision they each made to dispense with Him.  Running away they chose safety instead or in Judas Iscariot's case money.  When they got there - that is, away from Him - they found they had nothing really.  We'll find the same.

Trust in ME.

Dry Bones

The fuss made over the alleged bones of Richard III took a new twist this week when prayers were said for the repose of his soul.  I certainly could not have said them

a) because of my Protestant theology

b) because I would not know what to say

c) I would have burst into a ceremonially destructive giggling fit in the middle of them.

I am not convinced that God is a Protestant as such, he always knows what to say but I think He might share with me (c) a fit of giggles  - always assuming he isn't offended by English ecclesiastical eccentricity.

OK, we all know that this is a City publicity stunt and one can only admire Leicester for managing to get so many of us to take the whole thing at all seriously.  I imagine the city fathers (sorry, parents) of Derby digging furiously under car parks to unearth some bones that can also put their neglected city and cathedral on the map.

But why the Church has to stick its mitre in is a matter of reflection.  Is this a reminder that although the Church is becoming less relevant by the day in this century it was really important 500 years ago?  That'll achieve what exactly?  Or is it a sign that as so many churches are surrounded by dry bones in the graveyard, dry bones are a Church specialty in a crowded marketplace where many other niches have gone secular?

I can't help noticing two things.

1.  As Crossrail digs its underground way through the old plague pits of London nobody is queuing up for the sight of the bones of the ordinary people, nor clergy praying for the repose of their long-gone souls.

2.  Dry bones in the Bible only have any meaning at all when, as Ezekiel saw it, they live.  It is hard to equate the ceremonies with the same set of beliefs really.  Whatever did those hundreds of worshippers grasp about life and living faith?

Passed!

This being the day when my daughter passed her Practical Driving Test I'm reminded of my own.

If we can clear up the boasts first of all:  I passed first time after only 15 hours driving (not necessarily as good thing, but our family didn't have a car to practice in).  I thought you'd be impressed.

On the other hand, my daughter passed almost flawlessly today and that I cannot say for myself.  In those days the test ended with a series of questions on the Highway Code.  One of mine was, what signal follows amber?

In the whole realm of questions this one is very easy.  After all, when you know that the other two are red and green and that red and green never appear at the same time you are left with a choice of two.  I chose green.

It was a regrettable choice but for reasons I have never fully understood I was given a pass. Presumably I had already demonstrated in my driving that I did not really believe my own answer. 

What you do when warned of danger is down to two pedals - the accelerator and the brake.  As we move toward a General Election I think that moving back to London has helped me better understand the political life of our nation which is so firmly based here.  London seems to regard amber lights as a reason to hit the accelerator.  So many nation-changing decisions made during this outgoing parliament has been of the same kind.  People have warned about messing about with welfare caps, with marriage, with numbers of biological parents (good grief . . .), with freedom of speech and a host of other things only to find the accelerator pushed down.

I made a nasty mistake.  But I'm not alone.

Happy St David's Day!