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13 // Just As One Carries a Child

'And you saw in the wilderness how the Lord your God carried you...'  Deuteronomy 1.31

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

Yesterday, I chanced upon a powerful poem about refugees by Brian Bilston, which he’d posted on social media. Politics aside, it reminded me of the direction of travel Jesus takes upon the Incarnational way; in the movement of the heart we mentioned yesterday, which turns the usual ‘top down’ approach to life on its head, and starts from the bottom instead.

So make sure you get all the way to the bottom of the poem. Read it aloud, if you can; you may notice a change in your own tone, as you go ...

Refugees

They have no need of our help
So do not tell me
These haggard faces could belong to you or me
Should life have dealt a different hand
We need to see them for who they really are
Chancers and scroungers
Layabouts and loungers
With bombs up their sleeves
Cut-throats and thieves
They are not
Welcome here
We should make them
Go back to where they came from
They cannot
Share our food
Share our homes
Share our countries
Instead let us
Build a wall to keep them out
It is not okay to say
These are people just like us
A place should only belong to those who are born there
Do not be so stupid to think that
The world can be looked at another way

(now read from bottom to top)

Brian Bilston

*     *     *

 

Wow. Starting from the bottom makes the difference, here - which, as I say, resonates for me with the Incarnation. I guess that’s so much of what the wilderness becomes about, for Jesus, when he shows up there - to show that the world can 'be looked at another way'.

Jesus' temptations, in particular, seem to cry out to be turned upside down, like the poem. Life is not about proving or defending yourself, but demonstrating God's mercy; Jesus' desire is not to gain all the kingdoms of the world, but to redeem and share Creation; he doesn't need to use his gifts and powers to get himself into the 'Inner Circle', because God’s love encircles all.
 

*     *     *

 

I admit I can feel scared of the Incarnational way; I'd almost rather our nice theological words didn't have to be made flesh, sometimes. I can be afraid of change, of letting go, of showing up, of stepping into wilderness. 

But even the idea of wilderness can turn upside down. We have our usual expectations of what it must be like: tough, stark, punitive, maybe; but that's how the ego sees it. And to be fair, it needs to be a place beyond familiarity, to show us how familiar our temptations have become, hidden in plain sight.

For Jesus, above all it was a place to cultivate love, not survival skills. He entered with his Father's words still ringing: "This is my Son ..." And I love to think he let love carry him, ever deeper into God's ways of seeing, and being. For he'll have known, in his toughest moments, that God's people had been there, too. After they'd completed their journey in the wilderness, the Israelites were reminded that this was the place where ‘you saw how the Lord your God carried you ...  just as one carries a child'. Gulp.

Love does the lifting. The poet's right. We can see the world another way.

*     *     *

May you be lifted, today. 
Go well!

Brian
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TONIGHT is 'Live at Five' - 5pm, YouTube!

Join me for 'Live at Five' on my YouTube channel as we reflect on the week, share our experience, light a candle and find some soulful space together!

(And if you can't make it at five, you can always catch up later.) 


Trail Mix!

And in the meantime ... I love this song by Michael Gungor called Please Be My Strength. Have a listen, and let God's love, and God's strength, be yours in this moment.  Breathe deep, and in your imagination, let God breathe for you.

Or just remember what it's like, as a child, to be carried. And be carried again.

...

When you feel tempted, today ... notice the urge, and then turn it on its head! Use the moment to pause, breathe, and then do the opposite. Face toward love, and act from that place of assurance and vision.

...

Remember you can catch up with all this week's RSVP responses from the community on the RSVP page here ...

I'll open the window again next week, so you might like to take the opportunity to look back over our last few reflections this weekend, and begin to make a creative response ... (Please don't send me anything quite yet, though!)

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12 // the Way of Listening

"Speak Lord, for your servant is listening." 1 Samuel 3.10

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

How's your week going? I hope you caught a glimpse of the moon on Tuesday. The clouds parted here, just in time, and it was wonderful to pause and think of our community, and of Jesus looking up to that same moon himself, of course.

I've appreciated reflecting further, too, on the people who quietly 'show up', day to day, often without thanks or acknowledgement, to be present for others.

I imagined El Roi, the God who sees, seeing them - perhaps most keenly through the eyes of those they serve - even when so much of their work goes unnoticed. Stones get rolled away by love, not force.

*     *     *

 

Continuing on from yesterday, then, the act of showing up can often mean listening, well. 

I’ve been helped recently, and challenged, by the example of Rich Villodas, the pastor of a large multicultural church in Elmhurst, Queens, who has 75 different nationalities in his congregation. Rich writes in his book The Deeply Formed Life of 'incarnational' listening - and its power, in particular, to cross divides and help to heal.

There are a few pitfalls to be aware of, first, that can prevent us from listening across the border lines of our life, he says. We might equate listening with agreeing; or prefer to be 'right' instead of open. We might reduce people to their worst belief (ouch!); or simply feel afraid of change. Perhaps one or two of those resonate with you.

But when we're ready, incarnational listening invites three movements of the heart, he says, like Jesus’ movement from Word to flesh:

1. Leave your world. Let go of the familiar. Take the risk. Step out.
2. Enter into someone else’s. Practice active, curious and humble listening.
3. Allow yourself to be formed by others. Be open to their worldviews, while holding on to yourself.

I find that inspiring, audacious even, as we take to the blazing trail this Lent! 
 

*     *     *

 

I'm moved, too, by a challenge Rich makes to any of us who benefit, albeit often unconsciously, from the privileges that come with ‘social power’ - whether that's simply from being Western, or having an income, or a good education, or perhaps being white, or male, or in leadership ... The challenge he makes is to listen 'first and most' to those with less than ourselves. 

This is, he says, 'a deeply Christ-centred way of being' - to lead the way with listening across the divide. I guess it's true servant leadership to lay down your power and show up to those without.

Of course, our inspiration is Jesus, who surrendered all, for us - so, what could it be like to listen to him, too, in this way - as this powerless Incarnation of God? To show up, quietly, before him, who walked the edges and margins? 

To let him speak through our spiritual practice, our silent prayer, today; but also - please God - through those along the trail we stop ourselves to listen to, with openness, audacity and love. Speak Lord: Your servant is listening.

*     *     *

May you hear, and be heard, today. 
Go well!

Brian
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Trail Mix!

Spend some time in quietness, listening for God.

If you'd like to combine this with your breathing, on the out-breath you could whisper the words from Samuel, "Speak Lord, for your servant is listening ..." And on the in-breath, be silent, and open.

Afterwards, you might also enjoy listening with loving care to this piece of music - Haar, by the Orkney composer Erland Cooper. (I'm so grateful to Helen S for the introduction to Erland!) Bring all your attention to it, to practice tuning in.

…

Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said, 'There is a kind of listening with half an ear that presumes already to know what the other person has to say ...'

Try to listen with both ears, today, to someone who has less social power. 

...

We can also, of course, listen to Creation. Wrap yourself up, step outside, and listen to the snow fall, or to the trees praising, or to the birds singing, or to the silence itself from which all our activity today rises, and into which it falls again. If it's safe to do so, stand outside with your eyes closed, and listen.

...

I've just finished uploading this week's amazing RSVP responses! A huge thank you - we're creating something beautiful together. Have a look at the latest batch on the RSVP page here - and in the meantime, keep journalling, painting, writing poems, way-marking ...

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11 // Show Up

[Hagar] gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” Gen 16.13

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

And happy International Women’s Day! While there's no need for me to pitch my own male voice in to this tremendous global ‘way-marker’, I’d love to share some thoughts I’ve appreciated from the American author Rachel Held Evans.

Rachel died in 2021, aged only 37, but her presence is strongly felt still. According to the journalist Emma Green, she was ‘part of a vanguard of progressive-Christian women who fought to change the way Christianity is taught and perceived in the United States.’

In particular, ‘her very public, vulnerable exploration of a faith forged in doubt empowered a ragtag band of writers, pastors, and teachers to claim their rightful place as Christians.’ That’s a powerful legacy.

You might pause to give thanks for whoever helped you to claim your own place, as well.

*     *     *

 

Thankfully, Rachel had finished writing most of her recent book, Wholehearted Faith, before she died. And within it, she establishes quickly and firmly who shecan credit for her being a Christian: the women of the Bible, she says.

Women such as Mary, Jesus’ mother, and her spiritual ancestors Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba and Tamar: ‘women who knew what it means to be vulnerable, to suffer, to work within systems that were bent against their flourishing, to endure hierarchies that were designed to forestall their flourishing.’

There’s Elizabeth, too, who endured years of cruel speculation, to raise John the Baptist to be wild and religiously rebellious. And Hagar - made pregnant, then cast into the desert. She’s the only person in the Bible credited with giving God a new name - El-roi, “the One who sees me” - because she recognised, in the desert, that God recognised her.

*     *     *

 

And perhaps most movingly, Rachel’s a Christian, she says, because of the women who supported Jesus logistically, emotionally, spiritually, and dared stick with him to the bitterest end. They did not scatter.

Imagine their lack of closure when they couldn’t even dress the body with spices because it was the sabbath. She pictures them waiting, agonisingly. Did they pray? Did they sit in silence, eyes weary from tears? Did they go over every last terrible detail?

‘I am a Christian,’ she says, ‘because of women who, according to Mark’s gospel, said to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”

‘I am a Christian because of women who showed up.’

*     *     *

 

The Gospels agree that the first witnesses to the resurrection of Jesus were women. And they were the first simply because … they were there.

‘Sometimes,’ Rachel admits, so helpfully, ‘showing up half-heartedly is all I can muster in my own faith experience, my own burial spices in hand, with no idea how I might move away that stone that sits between myself and Jesus.’

A word for us all, I hope, from those who showed up, to show us how to blaze the trail in ever-present love.
 

*     *     *

 

May you see the One who sees you, today. 
Go well!

Brian
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Trail Mix!

Spend a little set-aside time now, with God. Show up, in whatever way you can, in whatever state you find yourself. Be seen.

(If you’d like some musical accompaniment, try this. It's 'Benedictus' by Karl Jenkins, part of his 'Armed Man: Mass for Peace'. Thanks to both Meg M and Helen S for referring to it yesterday in relation to tarab!)

…

Watch for moments, today, in which you can show up courageously to bring your presence as a gift.

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10 // The Moonlit Trail

'When the days drew near for Him to be taken up, He set His face to go to Jerusalem.' Luke 9.51 (ESV)

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

We talked last week of measuring life not in abstract units, but soulful way-markers. So I was very touched to hear yesterday from Sharon S in South Africa:

'The word zugunruhe is apt for me today,' she writes. 'For the past week on my morning walk, I have watched hundreds of swallows as they swoop to fill their tummies. Today they are gone - not a single one in sight! I can only assume they have started their great migration north. It never ceases to amaze me how Creation is just so perfect.’

Yes! Isn’t it wonderful, too, how we are all connected, somehow, as part of it? As Sharon bids the swallows farewell, we prepare, in time, to welcome them here (with great joy!), within the ebb and flow of all God’s rhythms.

*     *     *

 

Another way-marker we love to share in, each year, within this Lent community, is the cycle of the moon - which happens to be full tonight (rising at 5.40pm in the UK). It connects us both to that ancient rhythmic pulse of Creation, and also to each other, from wherever in the world we might be looking up.

I’m reminded, especially, of how poignant that is for those separated by distance, or conflict, such as Milana here in England, whose story we heard about in our first week - with her dad in Ukraine, and her mum in Israel.

*     *     *

 

A full moon marks rhythm in a most beautiful way, doesn’t it. Perhaps Jesus, all those many moons ago, kept track of his days in the wilderness by its waxing and waning. He can’t have missed the moon, in those dark-sky nights, of course. Imagine it, for a moment, lighting up his face, his eyes, with wonder, as he himself looked up.

Fast-forward three years, and this particular moon in the year’s lunar cycle also offers a poignant way-marker on Jesus’ path to the Cross. It’s sometimes known as ‘the Lenten Moon’, as it’s the final one before the Paschal Moon at Passover, when Jesus will be arrested and tried.

The countdown, then, is on. He has just one moon to go, from here to Gethsemane. And so do we, as we travel with him now, through Lent, but also toward Easter, tracing this moonlit trail he walked as he 'set his face' - that same face we just imagined - to Jerusalem, knowing where it all must lead.

Perhaps the moon can help remind us to walk with courage, too, this Lent, where he has led; to stay our course, as best we can, in steps of sacrificial love.

*     *     *

 

And if inter-continental bird migration feels too flighty, and if the beauty of the moon is hidden by clouds, perhaps there’s a down-to-earth way-marker that you might notice today, which reminds you of the slow but inexorable turning of the Earth toward the light, and brings you hope. A magnolia bud is opening in our garden, the very colour of moonlight itself. And that will do, for me.

*     *     *

 

May you look up, today. 
Go well!

Brian

 

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Trail Mix!

Why not take a few moments to reconnect with three fundamental rhythms:

1. Your breathing. Breathe in for 4, and out for 6, giving thanks for God’s breath which breathes you into life. Repeat, for as long as feels right. As you do, put your hand on your diaphragm, to notice its rising and falling. Remember Jesus’ humanity - his first breaths, as a baby; his last, upon the Cross; the sound of his breath in the stillness of the wilderness.

2. Your heartbeat. Give thanks for God’s love, which pulses through you, and sustains you. Put your hand on your heart, and imagine what it was like for the apostle John to lay his head back against Jesus’ chest at the Last Supper, feeling the heartbeat of God. Sense that closeness with him, now.

3. Finally, connect with the light of dawn. Face east, look through a window if you can (or step outside), and receive the gift of new mercies which arise with the sun. Open your hands wide, and imagine God’s mercy flooding toward you, and then through you, to those who need to feel its touch today.

…

If it's safe, why not take a night walk, or simply step into your garden (or look from a window) after dark and watch for the moon. Even if it's cloudy, remember someone you're separated from across the distance, and perhaps someone in the Lent community you've read about on the RSVP page.

Remember Jesus, too - there in the desert, and then, three years hence, setting his face toward Jerusalem as the lunar countdown begins.

...

If you happen to be near water and have clear skies tonight, you might like to watch for the moon’s reflection, and let it inspire or move you.

And even if you're not, there’s a word in Swedish - ‘mångata’ - which means ‘the road-like reflection of moonlight on water’, and you might use this image to help you reflect from a different angle on the nature of the blazing trail. The pathway Jesus took, as marked by the light and rhythm of the moon. 

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9 // Words of Love

'This is my son, whom I love.' Matthew 3.17

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

I've shared, in previous series, a few words from other languages (or forgotten ones of our own) which help give richer expression to our walk of life and faith.

The lexicographer Susie Dent has blazed a trail with inspiring, uncommon words, and recently compiled an 'emotional dictionary’ which, in particular, explores our capacity to feel. She says that if you can draw on a wider vocabulary to express your emotions, you're better placed to deal with them.

I'm sure that's so, and I’ve found a few words in her book I’d love to share, which nurture spiritual as well as emotional intelligence. I hope they help give voice to something you may sense but have hitherto not have found expression for. Please take each, if you can, pause-fully, as you might with a meditation.

*     *     *

 

Let's start with a joyful one - confelicity - which means ‘taking pleasure in someone else’s happiness’. It's the kind of pleasure you might derive from watching children open their Christmas stockings! 

I'm sure God takes great delight in our happiness. Perhaps we have to work a bit harder, sometimes, not to be jealous of the happiness of others. If that's so, it's not too late to embrace confelicity as a challenging, but cheering spiritual discipline, for Lent.
 

*     *     *

The Japanese word siejaku means ‘tranquility amid chaos’. It’s the kind of calm equanimity we tend to find most frequently in nature.

And it makes me think of the stillness Jesus cultivated in the desert, which he brought with him, into his ministry. Remember how he was able to sleep in the boat when the storm struck Lake Galilee. “Hush, be still,” he told the wind and waves ... and it was ‘completely calm’. The ripple effect, reversed.

*     *     *

 

Another Japanese word, shibui, describes ‘a subtle beauty that increases with age’. You can apply it to anything ‘from a wrinkled face, to a time-honed piece of wood'. Gorgeous! It's what you might call a soulful 'aesthetic', and a much-needed counter-point to our obsession with youth.

You might also like flawsome, coined more recently by the model Tyra Banks,  to express the beauty we exude within our flaws, not in spite of them.

*     *     *

 

We've touched on awe in this series, and the Arabic word tarab - which has no equivalent in Western language - evokes ‘the enchantment and intense spiritual responses that flow through us when we listen to music.’

Worship is far more than our songs of praise, of course, but it's surely no coincidence that music, in all its forms, resonates - and holds a unique place in helping us explore and express our bass-note yearnings for God.

*     *     *

 

Is zugunruhe what Abraham felt when he was called to leave Ur, and all his home comforts, and set out to blaze that most original trail in Genesis? 

It’s the German word to describe an ‘uncontainable impulse to move’. Birds have it with migration, and apparently ‘even caged robins will turn repeatedly towards north when their free siblings are making their annual flight’. 

We can feel this magnetic pull, too, when we know things have to change; when it's time for us to fly again.

*     *     *

 

And, finally, the Chinese word teng is a gorgeous one, and points me to God. 'For all that love and sorrow often go together, we lack a word to express the pain that comes from love,’ says Susie Dent. Teng can describe the sorrow inherent in the bond between a parent and child: the words “I love you” spoken by a mother or father can be framed instead as: “My heart hurts for you.”

Might this help us glimpse more of how God felt in proclaiming, as Jesus rose from the waters of baptism, “This is my son, whom I love” - sensing what such love would cost them both? Did e’re such love and sorrow meet...

The theologian Douglas John Hall writes poignantly of how power can never be used to force the cause of love, even by God: ‘God’s problem,' he says, 'is not that God is not able to do certain things. God’s problem is that God loves. Love complicates the life of God as it complicates every life.’ 

There is always more to discover, it seems, about feeling, when God feels, too, and feels for each of us so keenly. Love, so amazing, so divine - that it finds such expression in this Word, made flesh, who loves to dwell among us.
 

*     *     *

May love find expression in you, and through you, today. 
Go well!

Brian
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Trail Mix!

In a few quiet moments, breathe in, and out, and sense God's loving presence within you and around you.

Why not listen to Kathryn Scott's beautiful rendition of When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.

...

I've written a suggestion for each of the words above. Head to the one you've felt drawn to, or else feel free to work through each in your own time, today.


Imagine God taking delight in something you feel happy about.

And try to take joy, today, in someone else's happiness (confelicity).

...

Breathe in the stillness of this moment, the stillness Jesus drew from in the desert. Wherever you go, try to bring tranquility to chaos (siejaku). 

...

Take a look in the mirror, and as the poet Wendell Berry says: “Rest in the Maker’s joy". Let the beauty of your age, and soul, exude (shibui)!

...

Listen to a piece of music with your full attention, and feel the response flowing through you (tarab).

...

Sense if the restless stirring within you means it's time to move on, like a calling (zugunruhe). Don't try to force an answer, but do give it some space.

...

Hear God speaking the words, "This is ________ , whom I love." Add in your name. Receive God's love, acknowledging that life can be complicated for God, too, because God loves (teng).

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8 // Filled to the Measure

'I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may ... be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.' Ephesians 3.17-19

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

Do you have the 'measure' of life, yet? It struck me afresh this week how much we try to quantify it - in terms of numbers, for instance. OK, I admit, my thinking was prompted when less than half the people who booked turned up for a walking retreat I was leading. No matter, of course - the lack of 'numbers' was far outweighed by sheer abundance of spirit!

But we do tend to measure ourselves (and find ourselves wanting!) in all sorts of numerical ways, from salary to social media hits to sales targets - and through all that, our sense of ‘usefulness’ also affects our sense of worth.

I'm so grateful, then, that Jesus says we are 'no longer servants but friends' (John 15.15), as it means 'utility' is one metric we need never worry about in his kingdom.
 

*     *     *

 

Distance is also interesting - I heard the country vicar and author Colin Heber-Percy talk this week about how we measure and map the world in soulless abstract units. How much richer to see the blazing trail in terms of gospel oaks, snow-drops, favourite benches, friendly cafés ... Way-markers of the soul, I love to think, that give a different bearing on life.

Half way along my regular walk to the supermarket is a tree I’ve come to love, whose bark looks like a stop-motion lava flow. It hints at me to drop my pace and pay attention: don’t miss this life, this route, this place, en route to some place else, some other life, it seems to say each time.

*     *     *

 

And time, yes! It ticks away in minutes and hours which blur into years, and how tempting it is to worry about how much we have left, or fret about time we have wasted. I’d rather listen to the generous prophetic spirit of Annie Dillard: “Spend the afternoon,” she says. “You can’t take it with you.”

Pause, breathe, linger - and though time in Lent doesn’t quite stop, it does seem to bend back into a circle as we find a rhythm again: in mercies new each morning, awe-filled sunsets, spring-time rising from its winter grave, a prelude for Easter.

 

*     *     *

How then, do we even start to measure God for whom a thousand years is like a day? In prayers answered, or pews filled?!

On that walk last week, I reflected on God’s sheer fluidity. How the Spirit is like air, blowing where it will, yet always giving life; like water rising as a river in us from a generous Source below; like light, in the touch of the sun on a late-winter's day, bringing warmth to the face, and unquantifiable joy to the soul.

You don't have to stand under a riverside willow, as we did, to feel the Spirit’s flow, of course. This blazing trail takes us to landscapes within, where the soul can respond in equal wonder: How high and wide and deep is all this love? 

At the least, as we hold out our little measuring cups to life, I love to think God smiles at their inadequacy. They "runneth over", as the psalmist rightly says - which perhaps was the point of all this, all along. Our own limited measures serve to show, if nothing else, how the love of a God who calls us "friend" can never, in such fullness, be contained by anything but our overflowing heart.

*     *     *

 

May you be filled to the measure, today. 
Go well!

Brian
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Trail Mix!

Spend a few moments within the overflowing wonders of Ephesians 3.17-20: 

'I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

'Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory!'

...

Here's one of my favourite pieces of music to 'be still' by - 20:17 by Olafur Arnalds and Nils Frahm. Take some breaths, relax, smile, and open yourself to the friendship and overflowing love of God. You might like to speak a phrase from the Ephesians passage out loud, a few times, as you listen.

...

This weekend, why not take a walk around your locality. It doesn't have to be countryside! Find one or two 'way markers' that give you a richer sense of bearing in your neighbourhood - it might be a favourite bookshop, café, tree, river, chapel, park ... Spend a bit of time there, and appreciate it. You might even like to draw a creative 'map' including some of your soulful way markers.

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7 // The Small But Monumental Gesture

"Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” Matthew 26.13

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

Just the simplest of stories, today. The rock star Nick Cave lives in Brighton, and recently wrote a moving memoir with the journalist Séan O’Hagan which interweaves themes of grief, hope, faith and creativity. (Though not a ‘typical’ Christian by all appearances, he practices a deep and inspiring faith.)

Cave cuts an unmistakably famous, imposing figure, and when his teenage son Arthur died tragically, he laid low for a season, devastated, and riven with grief.

When he went out for the first time again, he visited his local vegetarian food shop (where he's a regular) and encountered a familiar woman working there, with whom he'd always shared ‘the normal pleasantries’, as he says.

She didn’t say anything in particular as she took his order, which he thought ‘a little strange’, given the circumstances. However, ‘as she gave me back my change,’ he recounts, 'she squeezed my hand purposefully. It was such a quiet act of kindness, the simplest and most articulate of gestures - but at the same time, it meant more than all that anybody had tried to tell me’ (about grief).

*     *     *

 

It’s funny, there are thousands of articulate words and countless helpful thoughts in his book, too. But the one thing I remember most vividly is this woman's act. It touches me, in the telling. You can feel it, rippling out.

It stayed with the musician, too. ‘In difficult times, I'll often go back to that feeling she gave me. There was something truly moving to me about that simple, wordless act of compassion.’

It reminds me, in a way, of the woman who anoints Jesus with perfume. Of course, her action was costly and sacrificial - but still, it was a simple, loving, tactile gesture - and Jesus said it would be remembered always. Perhaps, because he will never forget it; because he ‘goes back to that feeling’, too.

*     *     *

 

‘What you remember are the acts of kindness,’ says Cave, reflecting on his own painful path through grief. ‘The small but monumental gesture reverberates through the world in ways that we will never know.’ 

How beautifully put! I’m sure you can remember small things done with great love for you, which touched your soul, brought you awe; brought you back to life, even.

*     *     *

It was St David’s Day yesterday, and I’m reminded, too, of his own commitment to ‘do the little things in God's presence with conscientiousness and devotion’.

It’s a very Lent-like way to go, and we might draw inspiration today both from St David, and those two unnamed but unforgettable women, as we take another reverent step along this blazing trail. 

A step beyond the blizzard of words, great ideas and good intentions - to where we dare to think a little smaller, and to touch the hand of this one day with love.

*     *     *

 

May love reverberate.
Go well!

Brian
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Trail Mix!

Taking St David’s words, let’s do something little in God’s presence. Something physical. Why not take some breaths, with gratitude for life, then lower yourself to your knees, for a few moments, and be present to God’s presence - a simple gift of love to God today.

….

We talk about feeling the touch of God’s hand upon our life, but sometimes it’s hard to imagine. Try to see God as the woman in the food shop, serving you, and squeezing your hand without saying anything. 

Be open to God’s touch today, when you're out and about!

…

Recall a time when you’ve been touched beyond words by a small but monumental gesture. Give thanks for the giver. Thank them today, if you can. And try to pay it forward in just as small a way, with joy!

...

You can listen to Nick Cave and Séan O'Hagan discuss their recent book in this inspiring episode of The Sacred Podcast, hosted by Elizabeth Oldfield and the Christian think-tank Theos.

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​

6 // The Aurora Awe

'When I consider your heavens,
   the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
   which you have set in place,
what is humanity ... ?' Psalm 8.3-6 
 

*     *     *

 

Good morning. (And happy St David's Day!)

Did you see the aurora?!

In a very rare occurrence this week, the northern lights were visible as far south as Kent and Cornwall! My phone rang at 9pm on Monday and it was my brother-in-law, with 'eyes on', enraptured. We were so excited that my daughter Mercy broke her toe racing to the window! But that's another story.

There have been tales of people dropping everything and high-tailing it in their pyjamas to the hills, just for the possibility of a glimpse - such is the sheer magnetism of this awe-inspiring heavenly spectacle. It draws us.

*     *     *

 

Awe is a powerful thing, isn't it? The neuroscientist Dacher Keltner, an expert on the subject, defines it as 'the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world.’ And I'm sure God has created us with this capacity for a reason.

Fascinatingly, Keltner's research pinpoints eight 'wonders’ which seem to induce awe in us all, regardless of race, culture or belief. It's a great list:

moral beauty (that is, acts of goodness and courage by others);
collective effervescence (the unified thrill of being as 'one' in a crowd);
wild awe (as found in nature);
music;
visual design;
spirituality and religion;
life and death moments;
epiphanies.

These all take us beyond our 'small self' into a greater, inter-connected reality. The ego dissolves for just long enough; and I'd say, in those moments, that the soul can stir and reach for deeper communion with God, Creation, each other. We glimpse a different kind of belonging; one that we can practise.

I wonder, when you were last touched by awe? And how did it move you?

According to Keltner, awe directly evokes wonder - a state of ‘openness, questioning, curiosity, and the embrace of mystery’ - as well as the physical response of goosebumps, often tears, and what he calls ‘Whoahs’ (literally, the most universal sound humans make when awestruck).

*     *     *

 

And what of Jesus, out in the wilderness, with that God-given, human capacity to feel the presence of something vast; a mystery beyond himself. Did he get goosebumps, under those dark desert skies? Did the wonder of God's love at times release tears?

Did the nature of the landscape serve to draw him more fully into the whole? He was there for a reason, after all. Could the rocks hear him uttering, from time to time, his own hushed and reverent “Whoah”?

The aurora awe seemed so special. What a gift; the photos were stunning! I didn't get out there quite quickly enough, myself, but no matter: I still shivered joyfully seeing the stars from a nearby field, and sharing my brother-in-law's moment ...

And mostly, I find myself in awe, this week, of the One who paints the sky with lights, and more - who subjects himself so freely to the wonder of our human experience; and whose soul will stir, light up, for us all.
 

*     *     *

 

May you be awed, today, aurora or not.
Go well!

Brian
--------

Trail Mix!

Sit in stillness for a few moments, now. In the vast beauty of silence, invite your 'small self' to be still, and for God to draw and stir your soul.

...

Try to put yourself in the way of awe and wonder, today. Remind yourself what stirs you: play a piece of music that moves you, or read a poem, or the artwork that captivates you ...

...

Look for awe, today, in everyday places - within those eight 'wonders'. Be awed by the goodness of others, and perhaps allow your own good self to touch the soul of those around you.

...

Venus and Jupiter have been edging wonderfully closer together in the Western skies just after sunset this week, and tonight they’ll come in for their closest pass and what astronomers are calling a ‘kiss’ … Why not step out to see them, and to enjoy a moment of quiet awe, clouds willing! 

...

You can listen to a lovely conversation between Dacher Keltner and Krista Tippett on 'The Thrilling New Science of Awe' at the On Being website.

And you can see some lovely pictures from readers of the Guardian here. 


RSVPs! (NB: window now closed for this week)

Thank you so much for your awesome RSVPs this week! I'm still adding the last of them to the RSVP page here, so keep checking back. It's truly inspiring to see the wisdom of the group begin to find expression. Thank you! (Please don't send any more for now.)

...

References

Dacher Keltner, Awe: The Transformative Power of Everyday Life (Allen Lane, 2023)

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​

5 // The Heart of Belonging

When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” ... The Samaritan woman said to him, “You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?” John 4.7-9
 

*     *     *

 

I was at the Church Times Festival of Faith and Literature this weekend (it was great!), and questions of belonging kept cropping up. What does it mean to belong? How do I cultivate belonging? What if I don’t belong here, anymore?

Maybe it's post-Covid. Or because we live in such a transient world, now. Or because some people feel they no longer quite belong in the church. Or because it's all just such a deeply human matter.

*     *     *

 

It is, of course, an exquisite gift to belong.

I grew up happily in rural Kent, and felt I had a ‘place’ within the place and the landscape and the people and the sports teams and the churches. What joy, looking back, to have known most people by name, and to have been known.

Perhaps there’s a time or place you’ve felt truly part of, which informs the way you hope to belong again, some day - or indeed how you'd like to help others to belong, here and now.

*     *     *

 

At the same time, belonging isn’t everything, is it?

In fact, it’s often in the ‘liminal’ places - when we’re uprooted, sometimes painfully - that we discover some of the most creative and fertile landscapes to explore (as well as some of the goodness of what we once took for granted). As a stranger in a strange land, we can glimpse a different world; horizons shift.

And while boundaries can offer a healthy sense of belonging, the question of 'where to draw the line’ matters, because a line will always, by its nature, be exclusionary.

CS Lewis warns us of the “Inner Rings” of places, communities, organisations that our ego can feel desperate to join to be part of the in-crowd. The trouble is, if you’re “in”, there's an invisible line keeping others out, which ultimately makes it a vacuous pursuit - as you make it through rings within rings, like a peeled onion you can end up finding there’s really little left at the heart of it all.

*     *     *

 

In his book English Grounds, Andrew Rumsey writes: ‘The need to defend and define our pitch lies deep … such that the crossing of boundaries has always been an action both sacred and dangerous.’ That's beautiful.

It was both sacred and dangerous for Jesus to cross into our world in such an unsettlingly open, embodied way. He was happy to gatecrash the Inner Rings of pious religiosity, in particular, to expose them for what they really are.

He was willing, too, to travel the other way, outside the lines, to belong with those who didn’t - like the woman at the well, a Samaritan, with whom he shares a noon-day thirst for God, and his own life-giving drink plentifully, the Source of which belongs to all.
 

*     *     *

 

Was that part of the plan as the path led him into the wilderness for 40 days? To find himself there on the outside, thirsty, hungry; to become acquainted with the margins; to learn to love the unloved places?

Perhaps this Lent, we might follow him over a boundary with due courage and reverence; or, with even greater daring, let him cross with others into ours. Expand the circle; give it its heart.
 

*     *     *

 

May you seek and find the heart of belonging, today.
Go well!

Brian
--------

Trail Mix!

Give thanks for some of the people you have known, and who know you by name. Speak a few names out, of people who have let you cross their border, welcomed you, helped you belong more fully. Hold them in your heart.

...

Imagine Jesus, who knows you even closer, speaking your name again. Sit with him, in a place of belonging, drawing from the Source. Bring your thirst for God, and your desire to know and be known most fully, to him in this moment.

...

I really appreciate this contrast between 'fitting in' and belonging from Brené Brown (from The Gifts of Imperfection.). It helps me to think a bit more about the Inner Rings: “Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.”

Pray for the courage to bring your God-given self to each situation you face today with courage and love. Pause before stepping through a doorway, or indeed crossing a border, to remember, and to whisper "Here I am" with assurance and humility.

..

Bring with you the connection with God you find 'at the well', today. Draw deep.

​

​

-----------------------------

​

4 // Go!

Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” “No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. "Go ..." (John 8.10)
 

*     *     *

I experienced some trail magic for myself last week, not out on a country path, but in the cathedral on Ash Wednesday.

There was, first of all, the awe of being marked with an ash cross as the choir sang ‘Miserere’. We’ll talk more about awe, soon - how it can lift you into a greater place or story, one in which the ego is mercifully relieved of its duties: ‘Remember, you are dust …’ 
 

*     *     *

 

But I was grateful to glimpse, too, something that's been hidden (for me) in plain sight. The reading and talk were on the woman caught in adultery, and I'd always taken the story principally to be about not judging others. 

However, we were invited (by Tess Kuin Lawton, the cathedral's canon missioner) to put ourselves in the shoes of the woman, for a change.

And then, she asked us to imagine that our most private misdemeanours had been dragged into the cold light of judgement, and that we were the subject of public vitriol for whatever it is we think makes us unlovable; for whatever we are ashamed of most.
 

*     *     *

 

'To be honest,' said Tess, 'we don't even need a chorus of self-righteous religious men; we are more than capable of creating those voices of judgement in our own heads, telling us we're not good enough, that we will never amount to anything, that we are hopelessly inadequate. But Jesus is not listening to those voices. He has bent down and is writing in the dust ...'

The drama unfolds, and it is we who are standing (in our imagination, at least) before him now.

"Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone," Jesus says. And everyone exits the scene, except he who is indeed without sin; the one who remains with enough moral authority to cast a rock at us, if he really wanted to. As if.

And there you are, looking into the eyes of God. “Has no one condemned you?” "No one, sir,” you reply. “Then neither do I condemn you. Go ...”

*     *     *

 

It's you and me he's releasing, as well as her.

We're free to go, and part of that exquisite freedom is to go "and sin no more" - yet regardless, he looks right into us, and does not condemn us. 

*     *     *

 

Lent is a laying down of so much that hinders, including the rocks we still carry to use against each other and ourselves.

And hasn't Jesus, the trail blazer, already been there? As he bends to write in the sand, taking the heat out of this vicious, crowded moment, making space - perhaps his writing takes him back to the dust of his own time in the desert, when the accuser came as if to judge and trip and condemn him. Did he write in the sand there, too, as he waited, on God, to feel the power of love's release?

This is the one we follow, as we step into this week released by that same love. What a place from which to start.

'The mark of the cross in ashes on our forehead,' Tess concluded, 'is not a mark of shame, but a sign of what God can do with dust.' That's the kind of spirit we need for the blazing trail, surely - as we hear that shortest and most loving of words ringing in our ears and resounding in our heart: "Go!"
 

*     *     *

 

May you feel the power of love's release, today.
Go well!

Brian
--------

Trail Mix!

Pause to breathe, and relax, and become present to God's presence.

Why not read the passage in John, and put yourself in the woman's shoes. Use your imagination.

You might like to journal or draw the phrase, “Then neither do I condemn you" or indeed, simply, "Go!" Reflect on what it means to "Go" in light of this story.

...

If you're out and about today, have a look for a pebble or stone, and hold it in your hand for a while as you reflect on how you tend to condemn yourself (or others). Hear the words "Neither do I condemn you", and release the stone from your grip somewhere appropriate (drop it in some water, if you can). Continue on, 'released' to go.

​

​

---------------------------------------

​

3 // "We Speak of Hope"

'Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.' Romans 12.21

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

Just for today, as we continue along the trail, I'm making a small departure from my usual format. It seems absolutely right to pause to mark the anniversary of the invasion of Ukraine, but I wanted to let another voice be heard among us.

So I’ve asked Liz H, who's part of our Lent community, to share a fragment of her own story. She, like many others, has taken Ukrainian refugees into her home in the UK, and it has been far from simple for them or her.

The American novelist Toni Morrison writes of the importance, in the face of evil, of ‘allowing goodness its own speech’. As we bear witness, today, to the sorrow and futility of war, we can also steadfastly allow goodness its own speech - here in the humble yet powerful form of Liz’s words, below.

It's just one story among so many; yet as we listen to this particular one with love, I believe we can honour every act of goodness arising from the ashes of this conflict - and be inspired to 'give goodness its own speech' through hopeful actions of our own, be they big or small, seen or unseen, as we continue our way from the ashes of Ash Wednesday, deeper into Lent.

You might like to pause, to breathe, to be still, and to invite the goodness and mercy of God's presence to follow you through all the places your own path will lead, today. Including, now, into the reality of this story.

*     *     *

 

My husband Stephen and I collected Viktoriia and her 17-year-old daughter Milana from Heathrow last June. Viktoriia had no English; Milana’s wasn’t so bad. We soon grew used to using translation apps! Viktoriia found a job at a restaurant and we enrolled her for English classes.

The local college was helpful in supporting Milana - taking ‘A' levels is no mean feat in a language you’re not so familiar with. She felt lonely, looking to her mum for emotional support, and to me as I knew the system. There was lots to do in the early days.

Then ‘life’ happened: in August, Viktoriia’s other daughter - a 29-year old single mum living in Tel Aviv (she’d married an Israeli) collapsed and was rushed into hospital where she remains, unable to walk or talk. Viktoriia flew straight there, but it's hard for her to leave, now, not knowing if she'd be allowed to return.

Viktoriia's husband remains near Kyiv and is helping in the reserves. So the family are scattered over three countries, and Milana is here without mum or dad. Everything feels so precarious, and worse with the fear of what may happen around the anniversary.

Since August, then, we’ve been in loco parentis, which was not what any of us signed up for. It’s been challenging - it’s a decade since our youngest was 17! - but when I feel frustrated that items fall out of the under-stairs cupboard (our space is more cramped these days!), I remind myself there is a war on - and that this is nothing, in comparison.

When we talk at mealtimes with Milana about the war, we are brought closer to the reality. It is around our table. The sights and sounds. We can feel the horror. At this point, there is nothing to do but just be, in the pain of it. We hug, either in person with Milana or virtually with Viktoriia. Prayer has become silence. Stephen and I meditate every day together. We light a candle. We remember.

We speak of hope - and somehow we hold it, by saying it. Even today, Viktoriia has said in a message to us that she hopes … Other days, she finds herself in despair. All feelings are valid, of course. How not to hate, or sink to the depths?

Much of the time, I take these words of Thomas Merton as my inspiration:

‘You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognise the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope.’

“I am fortunate God sent you to us,” Viktoriia told me last week. I asked her if she’d mind me sharing her story with this community, and she said no, of course not: “We will be very grateful for the prayers. We really need them.”

*     *     *

 

May we speak of hope wherever, and however, we can, today.
Go well!

Brian

Join me for 'Live at Five' on YouTube today (details below). I'll be back with the next written reflection on Monday.

 

--------

Trail Mix!

The Celts had a saying:

“It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”

Why not sit in prayerful silence, light a candle and 'remember' - which is what Liz says she does - as an act of prayerful solidarity with Viktoriia, Milana, Liz and Stephen, and all the other stories they help to represent, today.

…

As an act of prayer, listen to this exquisite version of the Lord's Prayer sung in Ukrainian. (According to Christianity Today, 'at any interdenominational gathering, everyone stands to pray it together as an act of worship. This setting is from an Orthodox Easter liturgy.')

...

Later, or this weekend, reflect on Merton's amazing words, and seek to apply them to your own context as you begin your journey through Lent:

‘You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognise the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope.’

---------------------------

​

2 // Trail Magic

'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.' Psalm 23

*     *     *

 

Good morning!

I recently heard a lovely phrase that made deep intuitive sense to me: trail magic. It came via the author of the Salt Path, Raynor Winn, who is Britain’s most celebrated hiker these days after her much-loved books about walking great trails. As Winn explains (in her most recent book Landlines):

‘Trail magic is the wonderful theory that if you need help on the trail it will come from somewhere - or at the very least you’ll experience something that makes you feel awe and gratitude.’ How good! I'm reminded of the line from that famous Celtic blessing: 'May the road rise up to meet you ...'

*     *     *

 

Of course, we’re walking a metaphorical trail through Lent - and fear not, this is not a series on hiking! - but for me, it sets a vividly evocative tone as we begin.

You might recall times when help has arrived for you along ‘the trail’ - after you've bravely embarked on a new project, perhaps, or begun the next chapter of life. And I'm sure you can recount moments you’ve been stopped in your tracks by 'awe and gratitude', which somehow renewed you, gave you hope.

 

*     *     *

 

After Winn and her husband lost everything including their house, and with pitifully few options, they chose courageously to hike the South West Coast Path, wild camping as they went. Without giving too much away, good things really did indeed arrive along their often gruelling journey.

For Winn, trail magic seems to be an inspiring mix of serendipity, appreciation for the wonders hidden in plain sight around us, and the kindness of strangers. In fact, there's a shared ethic among hikers (originating from the Appalachian Trail) of bringing the magic to the trail by leaving food anonymously, or going out of one's way to help, or engaging in random acts of kindness; Winn herself finds food tucked under her tent flap, just when she needs it most.
 

*     *     *

 

Of course, for ‘trail magic’ we might also read God’s mysterious and wonderful ways. Perhaps you have been on a pilgrimage and drawn alongside just the right person at the right time; or had a moment of clarity on your spiritual ‘walk’ which changed you; or felt a healing connection in nature; or found that the path has led you through a difficult stretch to a place of growth you’d otherwise never have encountered.

Not that life is all about the next ‘wow’ moment - every step is holy. But isn’t there something truly magical about opening ourself to the presence of God, to the wonder of nature, to the kindnesses of others, that at least invites the ‘goodness and mercy’ of Psalm 23 to follow us, as we commit to the path?

*     *     *

 

So it excites me anew, the prospect of our journey into Lent: opening to the kind of unexpected twists and turns for which we cannot plan; and the good things which seem to weave their ways inexorably between us as we go. 

Even better, the invitation to become, along the way, a source of kindness and love! To be willing to be the answer to the prayer of someone we might encounter on the path. To become generous channels of the very goodness and mercy we've received from God, with every holy step we take. Walk on.
 

*     *     *

 

May the road rise up to meet you, today.
Go well!

Brian
--------

Trail Mix!

Pause to give thanks for the times when help has come, unexpectedly; and for the moments of 'awe and gratitude' you have felt along the path you have taken.

You might like to write one paragraph about a specific time you recall, to help you relive it, and to receive its goodness afresh.

How do these past experiences help you to contemplate walking the path ahead of you?

...

I think I suggest this song most years, but Mike Scott's sublime 'Open' seems to encapsulate the spirit of the trail rather magically! Listen with loving attention, noticing any words or phrases in particular that speak to you. You might like to respond to a phrase by drawing or sketching or doodling about it in a journal.

...

Spend a few minutes sitting in complete openess to God, today. Not trying to get anything from the experience, but giving yourself to God, and to all that God might want unexpectedly to give to you further along the trail.

--------------------------

​

1 // Begin With the End in Mind

‘Now Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wild.’ Luke 4.1 (MSG)

*     *     *

Good morning!

And here we are, at the start of Lent, with another invitation to begin afresh! I wonder how you feel about being here? Why not pause for a few moments to notice, with loving care, what's on your mind, and on your heart.

Take a breath. Soften your posture. Smile, and bring yourself to this moment of departure.

...

For we are, indeed, setting out on a trail, today, and while we don’t know quite where it will lead, we do have a guide, as we follow Jesus ‘in’.

When blazing a trail in a forest, you'd normally mark little notches on trees so that others can spot them, and follow. Surely Jesus was the most original ‘trail blazer’ of all, and we’ll look for signs along the Way this Lent of where he’s been and where he’s heading, as he says, “Follow me!”

(Imagine him speaking your name personally, as part of the invitation.)
 

*     *     *

 

The leadership expert Stephen Covey advises that with any project or journey it helps to ‘begin with the end in mind’.

You may be especially keen, this Lent, to break an unhelpful habit, or to find a healthier rhythm. If that’s the case, try to picture yourself at your journey’s end. What could it look like for you, and for those around you, once you’re there?
 

*     *     *

 

We might also begin with the end of Jesus’ journey in mind - not just the 40 days he spent in the wilderness before his public work began (which is the inspiration for our own time in Lent), but his path right through into Easter, which is what our hearts can prepare for, even now.

Remember how Mary Magdalene comes to the empty tomb on Easter Day and asks the gardener where the body is. He speaks her name; and she sees the risen Christ before her for the first time. “Rabboni” she exclaims. “Don’t hold on to me!” he replies.

‘Maybe he could hear it in the voice,’ writes Barbara Brown-Taylor - ‘how she wanted him back to the way they were, back to the old life … But he was not on his way back to her and the others. He was on his way to God, and he was taking the whole world with him.’

*     *     *

 

Perhaps our challenge, then, is not to keep him here with us, in all that’s safe and familiar; but to let him lead where he is going - which is onwards, right in to the presence of God itself.

 

For now, and back here at this fresh start, it’s one step at a time for us, and so … we begin, together, now! The cross of ashes on our foreheads, this Ash Wednesday, a blaze; a sign itself, of love - where all this leads. Let's go.
 

*     *     *

 

May we begin with the end in mind.
Go well!

Brian
--------

Trail Mix!

(Here, I'll offer a small handful of daily extra prompts to help sustain your thinking, journalling or soulful practice. But only use what you can manage!)

I wonder what it was like for Jesus heading ‘in’ to the wilderness that first day. How did he feel, to be there? What was on his mind and heart? Try to imagine.

...

In a few moments of quiet, imagine Jesus calling your name. (If you have privacy, speak your name out loud, over and over, to help you 'hear' it.)

...

Later, why not have a short walk (if you can), symbolically to take your first steps ‘in’ to this season of Lent.

Reflect on whether there’s anything specific you’d like to stop doing or start doing differently during Lent. And pause somewhere, at a bench or by a tree perhaps, to say, "Here I am."

Offer yourself to God, to the path ahead, and to the season.

...

I'll be heading to the cathedral here in Winchester tonight for Ash Wednesday evensong 'with the imposition of ashes'. If you can't get to a service, you can join with this one on-line here. It starts at 5.30pm GMT.

-------------------------------------

References

Barbara Brown Taylor, Home By Another Way (Cowley, 1999).
Stephen Covey, Seven Habits of Highly Successful People (Free Press, 1989).