Our Church flags: 1. Latvia

Over the years in London we have met people from all over the world.  London (pre-Covid) has been likened to an International Airport, with people from the world crossing one another's paths in most unlikely combinations.

Like other London churches, we often celebrate this by displaying or talking about national flags.  Let me reflect on some we have thought about over the years.

One thing about flags is that you cannot tell how interesting they are by how they look.  Some sophisticated-looking flags have little story and others that look thoroughly uninteresting - like this one - are a story that needs to be told.

What we loved about this flag is that it has a Christian connotation without intending one.  The story goes - and as it is a 700 year old story it is not fact-checkable - that the flag derives from a sheet on which a warrior's body was laid when bleeding.  The white representing the body, the crimson the blood.

And we thought about it in the context of Communion.

Communion, where we might sing the words of Isaac Watts (though this verse from 'When I survey the wondrous cross' is rarely sung)

 His dying crimson, like a robe,

Spreads o'er hi body on the tree;

Then am I dead to all the globe,

And all the globe is dead to me.

Selective Memory

November 5 is a British Memorial Day.  Each year it falls within a week of November 11, the day that 'remembers' the twentieth century's two World Wars.  Our church is no exception to this and we are deeply moved to ponder a sacrifice that is sufficiently recent to connect the older of us to grandparents or even parents affected by the War.

This pursuit of collective memory is not new.  Here follows a Prayer for the Daily Office of the  national Church for November 5th:

LMIGHTY God, who hast in all ages shewed thy power and mercy in the miraculous and gracious deliverance of thy Church, and in the protection of righteous and religious Kings and States, professing thy holy and eternal truth, from the wicked conspiracies and malicious practices of all the enemies thereof; We yield thee our unfeigned thanks and praise for the wonderful and mighty deliverance of our late gracious Sovereign King James, the Queen, the Prince, and all the Royal Branches, with the Nobility, Clergy, and Commons of England, then assembled in Parliament, by Popish treachery appointed as sheep to the slaughter, in a most barbarous, and savage manner, beyond the examples of former ages. From this unnatural conspiracy, not our merit, but thy mercy; not our foresight, but thy providence, delivered us: And therefore, not unto us, O Lord, not unto us; but unto thy Name be ascribed all honour and glory in all Churches of the saints, from generation to generation, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

For all the depth of feeling it contains, however, it is no longer said.  1605 is a very long time ago.  It is, of course, typical of the modern church to have ditched such politically incorrect referral to popish treachery.

Except that it wasn't the modern church that removed it.  It was removed in 1859, not a time conspicuous for the British being warm toward the Roman Church or the Pope.  By then 250+ years had done their work and the collective memory had new things to memorialise in liturgy with an Empire encompassing the globe.

This coming Sunday we will share Communion.  The Apostle Paul indicated that this 'proclaims the Lord's death until he comes'.  We are never to forget the greatest victory, the greatest Saviour and the greatest Salvation of all.

Sabbatical Picture No 11 Eucharistic Lipstick

I thought I'd attend General Synod (yes, the Church of England General Synod) on my Sabbatical.  I was in Yorkshire, it was in Yorkshire, so why not? After all, I am never going to have the Ecumenical credentials to go along as the Baptist Union observer (if they have one) and this blog entry will help to demonstrate why.

So there I was, seeing what was gripping the Established Church.  It turned out to be whether liturgical resources should be created for transgender people to renew their commitment in their new gender identity.  Except it became clear fairly quickly that this was no such pastoral-litugical discussion but a power struggle between the wings of the Church.

On Sunday morning the Synod were special guests of York Minster and even though I am no fan of hierarchy the interesting prospect of a Eucharist led by the Archbishop of York with the Archbishop of Canterbury as the preacher was too hierarchical to resist.

On the plus side there were a lot of people there.  Most of them were wearing General Synod badges so the armed police outside probably regarded me more suspiciously for not having one to wear.  I tried to enter in as saintly and Anglican a way as I could.  It occurred to me that the effect of my lack of a badge was to give me the appearance of being a Minster regular amid a sea of visiting Synodites (that may not be a word but the alternative might be Synners . . .).

I took my seat (well of course it wasn't MY seat but who was to know?) at the end of an empty row.  In this way I left fate or God (hard to know in this setting) to decide who sat next to me.  Few congregations can have so many people in dog collars and various states of overdress as they busily greeted one another (but not me).

A middle aged lady and her friend sat next to me - at least she said "Hello".  Middle aged she might have been but her umbilical link to her mobile phone was definitely teenage.  In between sending and receiving messages she said,
"Sorry about the phone.  I'll switch it off in a minute. Do you worship here regularly?"
"No, I'm only in York doing research."

She returned to the messaging and that was all that she found out about me.  I did better.  I found out all about her - but not until much later.  What I quickly worked out was that she was a great deal more interesting to the gathered persons than I was, and more interesting to herself than I (or as it turned out the Eucharist) was.

The service began and somewhere in the 20 minutes of standing at the beginning (and people complain when Baptist churches sing three songs and stand for nearly 15 minutes!) the phone was abandoned at last.  Presumably she wasn't messaging the Archbishop of York at the front but in his own Cathedral he was surprisingly hesitant.  General Synod probably does that to an Archbishop.

Archbishop Justin of Canterbury preached and he, too, seemed greatly restrained, as though he was giving a press statement which, to all intents and purposes he was.

I always get the jitters at Anglican Communions because of the walking up the front bit, and this was all the more confusing for the fact that my row were to head backwards to the middle of the Minster.  Before that the Peace and my fellow-worshipper stood little chance of sharing it with me because her phone was out again and several people came to, I presume, wish her well.  Perhaps a better word for the Peace would be The Connection, then the phone could have its rightful place there.

When hundreds of people have to take the Eucharistic elements logistics are complex; the Minster did it well but it took a while.  When I returned to my seat my neighbour seemed to have adopted a new, slimmer phone.  Closer inspection (as the choir intoned an adoration of the Bread of Angels) revealed that she was in fact holding a mirror and doing her lipstick.

Caught in the act, as it were, she apologised, pointing out that she had an interview with The Times straight after the service.  Presumably our Lord would have used a mirror, but probably not lipstick, had this been his next appointment directly after the Last Supper.

His next appointment was Gethsemane.

The woman I shared this bizarre Eucharistic distraction with is certainly well known once you dig around a little.  She isn't bringing the C of E any closer to Jesus from what I can make out but she had a peculiarly beneficial effect in me by demonstrating exactly what not to be like in any Lord's Supper, however grand.

Of gods and men

People have been noticing that whereas in previous years there was an unpredictability about the news, now there is guaranteed at least one daily news item involving the word Trump.  Though on reflection there has probably not yet been a day with only one such item..

My attention was caught by the superfan of Donald Trump who prays every day in front of a cardboard cut out of his hero. A thousand comments flood my mind but for now I return to Upper Clapton and The Ark of the Covenant of the Agapemonites I referenced last week on this blog.

On September 7 1902 Smyth-Pigott, the leader of the Agapemonites (and still a priest of the Church of England which he had banned from his newly built church building) replaced the Communion table with an elaborate chair on which he sat. 

And then he stood.

And then he infamously said (as reported in the Hackney and Kingsland Gazette) that his predecessor had prepared the way and that

'I am that Lord Jesus Christ who died and rose again and ascended into heaven; ... Yes I am he that liveth and behold I am alive for evermore.  The Lord from heaven and the life-giving Spirit to those who know me and come to me.

... I am the Son of Man and you, each one of you, must be judged by me . . .'

Most of the congregation agreed with this astonishing revelation.  The cardboard cut out of God had his followers.

The locals were less happy and near riots ensued whenever Smyth-Pigott appeared thereafter.  He decamped to Somerset with his several spiritual brides.

Which, I contend, only goes to show that you can fool some of the people any of the time.

Edward Digby

Through a good fortune of survival, now aided by the National Trust, The George Inn in Southwark  still stands.  It is unique as a surviving galleried inn of a kind once common.

For me the most attractive feature of this inn is its part in the story of a young man called Edward Digby.  There were several Edward Digbys in succession in the family, and they were a noble family in the City of London over the River Thames, peers of the realm.  Southwark, outside the City, was associated with ne'er-do-wells of many kinds.  Unsurprisingly then, on the marshes beyond, lay a large debtors prison.  In the style of the eighteenth century debtors were committed there until their debts were paid.  Being there all but guaranteed ones debts would never be paid.

An uncle of the young Digby became concerned that, at holiday seasons, he discarded his City finery and dressed in a blue coat only, disappeared.  He had him followed.  His spies saw him head past Southwark and out to the debtor's prison.  They enquired at the gate as to what Mr Digby was doing.  The gatekeepers confessed to no idea as to the blue-coated man's identity but reported that he came each Christmas and Easter and other auspicious times and paid several inmates' debts.  The gatekeepers informed the investigators that though they might well not wish to enter the prison, the man the sought would always take those he set free to The George Inn in Southwark for a celebratory meal.  And that is where they found him.  

Edward Digby died aged 27 years.  At Communion on Sunday we thought of his story as we remembered the comparable in type but incomparable in scale story of One who left the glory of the City Above to share the place of debtors below to set them free so they could eat with him and he with them.

Days to Remember: 5. The Ordinance of Holy Communion - or not.

Anyone who thinks that improvisation is what the keyboard player does between verses/bridges etc. in worship services has never attempted to do a communion service in a Rest Home.  Now we're talking improvisation.  Today I went for a monthly visit to do this locally as I have done for years. 

Problem 1: There was no lift/elevator working so our Communion was limited to those who were resident on the ground floor where the lounge is.  Solution: Sing up.

Problem 2: The carers had been to busy to prepare the Communion.  Solution: DIY

Problem 3:  A man in the lounge is visiting his mother and trying to Skype other family members for her viewing.  Solution;  Providence - the other family members weren't answering so he headed home.

Problem 4: No Ribena blackcurrant juice, the passable substitute for wine.  Solution: use cranberry instead.

Problem 5; Carer discovers there's no cranberry juice either.  Solution: use orange juice instead and be very careful about references to 'this fruit of the vine' etc. in prayers.

That was today.

Conducting Communion at the Rest Home has yielded many Days to Remember, many deeply moving, some side-splittingly funny.  The one I choose to reference here was the latter and can be accounted for in part by the time of the service.  Ostensibly 3:30pm it almost always starts late with assembly and preparation taking a while.  Although it takes but 15 minutes this includes the hour of 4:00pm.

The bread [this is my body, broken for you] had been served.

The wine/ribena [this is by blood shed for you] was about to be beginning to be served.

In comes a carer.  Walks over to (let's call her) Ethel, "FOUR O'CLOCK, ETHEL.  TIME FOR YOUR MEDICINE".  This non-liturgical addendum to the service was confusing on several levels.

Confusing to me and Helen (who helps me by serving [quite brilliantly may I add]) because we didn't see it coming until the announcement was made.  After all we were always doing the Communion at 4:00pm.

Confusing to Ethel because she was about to be served - in an identical plastic container - the symbol of faith.  I doubt that Ethel had much idea where faith ended and medicine began or vice versa.  What the theology of this is I do not venture to know. 

Worse still, Ethel was less than hurried in her medicine-taking.  We stood there in mid-communion and waited while the carer - let's call her the interrupter - while the interrupter completed her timely task over what seemed like several minutes.

Maybe unconsciously I always hurry the transition from bread to wine in church just in case the medicine round begins . . .

Gathering

We used this call to gathering from the Iona Community at Morning Communion.  It touched us.

 Gather us in,

the lost and the lonely,

the broken and breaking,

the tired and the aching

who long for the nourishment

found at your feast

Gather us in

the done and the doubting,

the wishing and wondering,

the puzzled and pondering

who long for the company

found at your feast.

Gather us in

the proud and pretentious,

the sure and superior,

the never inferior,

who long for the levelling

found at your feast.
 

Gather us in

the bright and the bustling,

the stirrers, the shakers,

the kind laughter makers

who long for the deeper joys

found at your feast.

 

Gather us in

from corner or limelight,

from mansion or campsite,

from fears and obsession,

from tears and depression,

from untold excesses,

from treasured successes,

 
Gather us in

to meet, to eat,

be given a seat,

be joined to the vine,

be offered new wine,

become like the least,

be found at the feast. ©

 

Rest Home to Royalty

A day of days in our nation!

While crowds risk their lives in the political turmoil of the Arab World in this undeservedly blessed land we crowd to see a glorious celebration of human love at the centre of our national life.  We have every reason to give thanks to God as we observed the elevation of Kate Middleton to the heart of the Royal Family.

And in it all one Scripture Reading.  It was beautifully read and a majestically suitable passage for a marriage.  And a great deal else.  For just yesterday afternoon I was reading that same Scripture from Romans 12 and from my point of view it had made a journey at least as dramatic as Kate Middleton!

The setting I read it in had been a little different: the hearers were in single figures, one was in not the transcept exactly but in her bed with the door open next door, their average age at or around 90 years and more, and walking frames replaced State Coaches while a CD recording replaced the Westminster Abbey Sub-Organist, choirs, fanfare trumpeters and the English Chamber Orchestra.  Yet to these elderly saints in the rest home as we shared Communion the apostle's words were still rich and replete with meaning and significance.

I won't forget today anyway, but if I were to do so Romans 12 would always remind me of God's timeless word, a victory of faith over fashion.

Communion (updated 2009)

In the same way also he took the cup, after supper, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood. However, don't do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me in case you spread a

virus.'