Being A Godsend

The weekend began with a bang. I wasn’t there to observe the explosion, fortunately , but I was first on the scene for the clean-up. My intention was to meet the guy delivering the flowers for the afternoon baptism, at 9 am, do a bit of a tidy-up, and scoot home ASAP. 

On opening the kitchen door, I noticed immediately that the fridge door was open, the plastic door compartments had exited the door, and the floor was covered with a brown liquid. A half- consumed bottle of coke in a plastic bottle had unaccountably exploded, leaving its environs ae described above.

It could have been a lot worse. All the bits of the fridge were unharmed and easily reassembled, after a run through the dishwasher, I took the opportunity to defrost the fridge, and gave the floor a healing scrub. All done.( Never found the bottle top … weird.) 

The flower guy showed up in good time, but because operation coke-bottle took more time than anticipated, I stopped off at The Manna House for a sandwich, which sorted  lunch.

Ray was away, so I got to determine which jobs to assign to Abu who helps out in the garden. I put him on cutting back the pink elder, which is stressed, and probably dying, and had him clear the trails through the shrubbery, which are  hide and seek opportunities for the grandchildren, now doubling up as a prayer labyrinth. I made him an American Brunch, treating myself to a spare pancake.

Free for the rest of the day, I set about making soup for tomorrow, then settled down to watch uplifting videos on YouTube 

Sunday began slowly. I rose early to pray, which I combined with watching butterflies and walking the labyrinth. July is good for all three. Having done all that was necessary yesterday, I didn’t need to be too early for church, so I ambled up just 15 minutes before kick-off to find a very agitated friend, Michael*, in a heated discussion with Fr  Liam, who was totally at a loss as to why St Mary’s was closed, so unable to give an explanation. 

It’s at this moment I become a godsend. I know Michael well from taking lunch at the community kitchen on Thursdays.  Michael is a volunteer chef and I am one of his customers. 

I know that St Mary’s is closed because the congregation has hoofed it up the road to Gorsley Baptists to celebrate the vicar’s 65th birthday. I got the email. Michael can’t read or write, so he didn’t. St Mary’s takes great care of Michael, and this circumstance is not typical. 

“Come with me, Michael, I’ll explain, and you can do church with me today,” 

Michael too, was a godsend. During my prayer time, I’d reflected on St Paul’s words in today’s gospel. “Christ in you, the hope of glory …” and I’d determined today to see Christ in everyone. Christ came to me today as a fifty-one year old man with learning difficulties who needed a friend, and I came as Christ  to him, to reassure him and guide him through his first Catholic Mass. Fr Liam broke protocol and agreed to give Michael Communion. “Jesus understands,” he affirmed. 

The grande finale … Christ came to both of us in bread and wine. The greatest godsend of all. 

*Not his real name. 

I Believe

My inner- writer will give me no rest until I do this. That is, write a Statement of Faith.

This is SO HARD. What possible purpose would it serve? Who knows or cares?

I'm time-wasting, because as of this very moment, I have no idea what I'm going to say. So it's down to my subconscious to bail me out again: I shall take this opportunity to give my Right Brain the reins, and let rip:

I know that the Cosmos of which I am a speck, is more than 99% void. I look upon the void with wonder. I wonder that I am matter, and I wonder that I am conscious. Life is of inestimable value, conscious life even more so. I, you, everyone: so rare, so precious.

There rises from deep within me a profound gratitude for Being. This gratitude is unfocused, but real. I delight in every manifestation of life, especially in those three lives I helped to bring into Being. My children.

I have searched and searched for meaning, and for a purpose in my life, and have not arrived at any conclusions. This is what I think today, tomorrow I shall be as happy as I am now to write something quite different.

As there are as many purposes in life as there are gurus to tell me what they are, I may as well invent my own. Like you, I will do this in accordance with my personality, my upbringing and my circumstances.

I discovered that ' I believe ' is too passive. So I ditched it for, I will. And maybe I will. I hope so! Here I am:

I will do what brings me peace.

I will pursue happiness.

I will revel in adventure.

I will make myself laugh, and in doing so, I hope to make others laugh too.

I will endeavour to gladden the hearts of those I meet, and I will not always succeed.

If I have to be angry at all, it will be FOR others, and not with them.

I will try always to be kind.

I will react to the suffering of others - in all it's manifestations - with compassion, and I will,when I can, do what I can to alleviate it.

I will retreat into silence from time to time to connect with Gratitude, and give thanks for Being.

I will never forget how to play.

I will accept that this form will fade and die. Whether there is another form to come, doesn't matter: this one flawed, but perfect, life will have been enough.

I will make every day count by continuously calling myself back to being conscious and present in every moment.

I will remember love: that it is the most lavish and beautiful of gifts, that it never dies, and is never wasted.

I will try to remember how flawed I am, and bring no judgement down on others.

I will forgive myself for my imperfections, and offer the same gift to others.

And finally:

I will remind you, wherever you are, whoever you are, that you are loved.

Who Am I Lord? Who are You?

The title of this blog post is a prayer of St Francis of Assisi, or so I’m told. No reason to doubt it. A beautiful lead in to a period of contemplative prayer. 

Who am I? 

Rather oddly, I’ve never really taken to my name. I’ll sign with it, and answer to it, but it’s always felt borrowed rather than given, if you know what I mean. It was my godmother’s name, chosen over “Myfanwy” which was my dad’s first choice. He got his way in the end, because he was an aficionado of the Home Service of the BBC, which at the time of my introduction to the world, was serialising Daphne Du Marier’s, “Jamaica Inn” and dad was much taken with the barmaid, one, “Mary Yellan”. He misheard it as “Mary Ellen,” so Ellen was tagged on as a consolation prize, and became the name my parents used when I was in trouble. 

“Mary” is occasionally translated as “sweetness” and Ellen as, “light.” So thank you mum and dad! 

I am much into the theme of identity in Christ, as propounded all over YouTube by Jamie Winship. He has some very interesting things to say on identity, witnessing to  a Christ that doesn’t need Christianity to bring healing and wholeness to a broken world. (Well, Duh!) 

I’m going off track a bit, but bear with me. When in conversation with an enquirer Winship will  say, “I can explain that to you, or Jesus can talk to you right now, which do you want?” Then asks Jesus to do just that. Look him up if you want to know if this works. 

Who am I? Winship asked Christ to reveal his true identity and he is “Militant Peacemaker.” He takes Christ, though not Christianity, to Muslims.  

So, encouraged to give this asking God what my true Name is, a go, I discovered it’s “My Beloved!” Beat THAT, barmaid of the Jamaica Inn! 

Out of curiosity, I asked AI what “Myfanwy” translates into in English. You’ll never believe it if I told you. 

Talking About Revival

Many of us say, glibly, “We’re Bible-believing Christians.” But are their limits to this belief? 

This morning, shortly after the fourth decade of the Rosary, when contemplating Jesus’ baptism, I began to wonder about the descent of the Holy Spirit. 

Of course I believe that Jesus was full of the Spirit. Just look at what he achieved, but when reading THIS, I hit a buffer: 

 “And you also were included in Christ when you heard the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation. When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession—to the praise of his glory." Ephesians 1:13-14

Is St Paul referring to ME? 

I always knew it to be true. The amazing gift of God’s own Spirit, the Third Person of the Holy Trinity is too wonderful to comprehend. Maybe I’ve just untied the bow and peeked at Glory, hastily retreating into the commonplace:this God-being is too much for me! 

“Think again!” A whisper from somewhere, or Someone else. “What if the commonplace, is where we meet?”

“Let’s give it a go,”  I said, aloud.

So We went weeding. It was hard work, and exasperating, this attempt to eliminate the ivy that was strangling the sage. But there was something different. Having invited God to be present, made it more purposeful somehow. You’ll know what I mean.

“Let’s go to Linda’s for coffee!” Ray returning from an errand was up for a treat. 

And that’s when it happened. Threads that were disparate and disjointed in time and place began to weave themselves together. I spoke to Linda of meeting with Di and Emma at The Ark Cafe, of praying for the town, for the world, for Revival. Linda spoke of the Vinyard Church in Gloucester, and I remembered. I have seen revival. How could I not have known? 

1985, Wembley Conference Centre “Signs And Wonders Conference.” I attended as an Evangelican Anglican from St John and St Matthew’s Church near Rainham in Essex. Day One, The keynote speaker and Vinyard Church founder,  John Wimber stands up and reads from Matthew 21. (Jesus to two disciples) 

“Go to the village ahead of you, and you will immediately find a donkey tethered with its colt. Untie them, and if anyone says anything, tell them, The Lord needs them.”

 After one of the shortest bible passages read that week, Wimber closed his bible with a snap, and delivered the shortest homily on record. Five words that changed the lives of hundreds of people that day:

“Jesus wants his church back.” 

There was a shocked silence. Then the Holy Spirit descended and all heaven broke out.

Grown men and women, lay people and ministers from every denomination fell to their knees sobbing. People all round me dropped to the floor, some were shaking, others screaming. There was laughter too, and behaviour that looked awfully demonic to me. Wimber’s  team moved quietly through the mayhem, praying with, and ministering to, the crowd.

I was praying too. “Please God, don’t let anything like this happen to me!”

I was, frankly, terrified. This was not like any Christian gathering I’d been at before. 

Intrigued too. The following day much the same happened. Once again, I prayed just as fervently, “Please God, don’t let this happen to me!” I was safe. 

The last day of the Conference , I prayed a third time,” God, why isn’t anything happening to me?” 

He came! Not with raucous laughter or incontrollable sobbing, but a deep, deep,  peace that filled me from head to toe. Wave after wave of it. 

“I give you what you need, not what you fear.”  

There were miracles of deliverance and healing that day, and the days that followed. Right in front of me, a man fell to the floor and shook for a long time. I felt rather uncomfortable because some very sceptical people from my church had come that day, and I was worried they’d be,“ put off.” (They were …) Eventually the young man stood up raised his hands and shouted, “I’M FREE!” I felt the gentle chiding of the Lord, “What would you have chosen for this man, many years in therapy, or an hour with me?” 

I didn’t know it then, in fact I only realised it today, when recounting this story to Linda forty YEARS after it happened. I was present at a revival. I was privileged to see first-hand, the power of God through the descent of the Holy Spirit. 

Then everything returned to normal. The commonplace became the norm. But as I learned today, too, that’s just as it should be. He’s still here, sanctifying the  everyday, present in all we do. It’s all miracle. 

Amen

Post Script:

One of the gifts God has given me is that of encouragement. This poem is for you: 

I am thinking of you, whoever you are

And holding you lightly

Here- just under my heart - in the

Place reserved for God  

Wow!

I expect that comes as a surprise! 

But it shouldn't: daughter, cousin, friend,

Anyone, everyone,

You are all precious.

I guess what I am finding words to say

Are those we would - if we were wise -

Whisper, or shout,

Or  pass along, like salt over dinner: 

"You, whoever you are, are loved.

And held, quietly,

Beneath the heart of God

And here, if lightly,

In my hand."

Be FREE.