"Behold, I stand at the (your) door and knock:
if anyone (you) hears (hear) my voice and opens his (open your) door to me,
I will enter in and dine with him (you),
and he (you) with me. (Revelation 3:20)
This invitation is deeply connected with the vivid painting by Holman Hunt, called, "The Light of the World" which depicts Jesus knocking on a door. The key point to notice is the lack of a handle on the outside. The meaning is that Jesus does not impose himself on us. He knocks. If we wish him to enter, we have to 'open the door to him' from the inside.
These are my recent reflections.
Jesus doesn't say he will come in and 'visit' us! He says he will dine with us. He brings no food with him. He will share our food, however poor or rich it may be. He will take us as he finds us. He will share our lives just as they are. We don't have to put on a show for him or be anything other than who we really are. In fact, it wouldn't work if we received him in any other way.
All he brings is a lamp - and himself. If we allow him to enter, that lamp will illuminate our lives forever. The person holding the lamp will always be at our side, always sharing our meals, always picking us up when we fall, always sending his spirit to comfort and console us, his angels to guard and guide us, always leading us towards his and our loving Father in heaven.
Why wouldn't we open that door if we really knew this truth.
Tuesday, 17 January 2017
Sunday, 27 November 2016
About illness and prayer and losing the fear of death
This is a postscript on the piece I have recently published on my 'all sorts' site about my successful treatment for cancer.
The reason why I can never be smug about my decision not to accept the surgery offered to me, which was, statistically speaking, the correct and sensible answer to my condition, is that I know that the procedure that I had instead could so easily not have been successful.
The surgeon, a lovely man and a committed Christian, was clear in explaining that the operation had not gone well, and why, and what could be the result, and I could see what he meant. This is what caused my long dark nights of the soul.
I believe, with complete certainty, that it was the prayers of my family and friends and my total trust that God knew that I needed to be completely fit to care for husband and son-at-home and to keep up with our ever-expanding and lovely family that brought me through the 'valley of the shadow of death'.
I trusted that my choice would enable me to continue to visit and spend time with very precious friends and to carry on with our church commitments, plus my greatest delight which is hymn-singing with the children at our local primary school and it has.
I was told that there was a 30% chance that the cancer could spread. The fact that, between the operation in mid-July and the test in early September, it had completely disappeared was, as far as I'm concerned, a miracle of God's love and healing. Nothing will ever shake that belief.
On the evening I came back from Good Hope Hospital, I lay in bed looking at the July sun setting in the sky and, at some time during that evening, this image came unbidden into my mind. I was sitting on a small raft in the middle of a gentle river. The raft was made of wood and was strong and secure.
Along the banks of the river were beautiful flowers and trees. I saw that the river was a river of love and that the raft was God's love and I was being carried from this life to the next in one continuous, calm and peaceful journey. From that time on, I have had no fear of dying whatsoever.
Thanks be to God, to the love and prayers of family and friends, and for love itself which is life in all its fullness.
The reason why I can never be smug about my decision not to accept the surgery offered to me, which was, statistically speaking, the correct and sensible answer to my condition, is that I know that the procedure that I had instead could so easily not have been successful.
The surgeon, a lovely man and a committed Christian, was clear in explaining that the operation had not gone well, and why, and what could be the result, and I could see what he meant. This is what caused my long dark nights of the soul.
I believe, with complete certainty, that it was the prayers of my family and friends and my total trust that God knew that I needed to be completely fit to care for husband and son-at-home and to keep up with our ever-expanding and lovely family that brought me through the 'valley of the shadow of death'.
I trusted that my choice would enable me to continue to visit and spend time with very precious friends and to carry on with our church commitments, plus my greatest delight which is hymn-singing with the children at our local primary school and it has.
I was told that there was a 30% chance that the cancer could spread. The fact that, between the operation in mid-July and the test in early September, it had completely disappeared was, as far as I'm concerned, a miracle of God's love and healing. Nothing will ever shake that belief.
On the evening I came back from Good Hope Hospital, I lay in bed looking at the July sun setting in the sky and, at some time during that evening, this image came unbidden into my mind. I was sitting on a small raft in the middle of a gentle river. The raft was made of wood and was strong and secure.
Along the banks of the river were beautiful flowers and trees. I saw that the river was a river of love and that the raft was God's love and I was being carried from this life to the next in one continuous, calm and peaceful journey. From that time on, I have had no fear of dying whatsoever.
Thanks be to God, to the love and prayers of family and friends, and for love itself which is life in all its fullness.
Saturday, 12 November 2016
A poem for the time when I am no longer here
In Love's Embrace
If you should hear that I have died
do not be sad, be glad for me.
Though love is real and joys abound,
life's pain is clear, for all to see.
The many tears that I have cried,
for grief untold and sorrows seen,
for early dawn's anxiety;
for what is and what might have been,
will fade away in love's embrace
when we behold the wondrous place
where all shall dwell in God alone,
our final and eternal home.
This is certainly not the greatest poem ever and some of the lines are not very good, no matter how I search for better expressions and rhythms. However, others of the lines have been echoing in my head for weeks and will not let go so this is the best I have come up with so far.
Also, it seemed appropriate to post them in November and particularly on the weekend of remembrance, here and maybe in other places around the world but especially in France, on the anniversary of the atrocity which took place in Paris a year ago today.
It might even be something that others might have liked to say to their loved ones who are left behind. I can only hope that in some circumstances, it might, perhaps, bring some sort of comfort and, maybe, some understanding.
If you should hear that I have died
do not be sad, be glad for me.
Though love is real and joys abound,
life's pain is clear, for all to see.
The many tears that I have cried,
for grief untold and sorrows seen,
for early dawn's anxiety;
for what is and what might have been,
will fade away in love's embrace
when we behold the wondrous place
where all shall dwell in God alone,
our final and eternal home.
This is certainly not the greatest poem ever and some of the lines are not very good, no matter how I search for better expressions and rhythms. However, others of the lines have been echoing in my head for weeks and will not let go so this is the best I have come up with so far.
Also, it seemed appropriate to post them in November and particularly on the weekend of remembrance, here and maybe in other places around the world but especially in France, on the anniversary of the atrocity which took place in Paris a year ago today.
It might even be something that others might have liked to say to their loved ones who are left behind. I can only hope that in some circumstances, it might, perhaps, bring some sort of comfort and, maybe, some understanding.
Monday, 17 October 2016
About being in a state of grace - or not
"If I be not, may God bring me to it.
If I be, may God keep me in it."
I read this quote from the play by George Bernard Shaw on Saint Joan of Arc recently and really like it; somewhat surprisingly, I have to say, not having liked those plays of his which I have seen. They came over to me as clever and witty but lacking in true feeling and heart, unlike these words.
During an interesting conversation earlier this year with one of our local priests on the subject of a 'state of grace', an expression of which I am not very fond, I found myself saying that I rarely feel myself to be in that condition, not even being very sure of its meaning. Even if I had made a true and genuine confession of my failings and failures, within 5 minutes of coming out of the confessional, my state would have relapsed!
What I can say is that I always believe myself to be in a 'state of love'; that is, my implicit trust in God's love for me despite my very poor ability to respond to that love, and my absolute knowledge of my love for my loved ones. That is one thing which I never doubt.
If I be, may God keep me in it."
I read this quote from the play by George Bernard Shaw on Saint Joan of Arc recently and really like it; somewhat surprisingly, I have to say, not having liked those plays of his which I have seen. They came over to me as clever and witty but lacking in true feeling and heart, unlike these words.
During an interesting conversation earlier this year with one of our local priests on the subject of a 'state of grace', an expression of which I am not very fond, I found myself saying that I rarely feel myself to be in that condition, not even being very sure of its meaning. Even if I had made a true and genuine confession of my failings and failures, within 5 minutes of coming out of the confessional, my state would have relapsed!
What I can say is that I always believe myself to be in a 'state of love'; that is, my implicit trust in God's love for me despite my very poor ability to respond to that love, and my absolute knowledge of my love for my loved ones. That is one thing which I never doubt.
Saturday, 10 September 2016
Monday, 29 August 2016
About the family of God
The family of God, for me, is the most important image of humanity, but what does it actually mean, I wondered? What is it in reality to me? How do we all fit into each others' lives?
Well, because, and only because, I was born and have remained a Catholic, Catholics seem to me to be like my brothers and sisters. This is similar to my biological family; just because we were born and raised in the same family doesn't make us best friends or more important to each other than anyone else; far from it. It just means that we have so many shared experiences and memories, were brought up with the same standards and values, shared the same house, same relatives, listened/watched the same programmes, etc etc, that there is a terrific familiarity.
Other Christians seem to me to be like my first cousins. As it happens, I am tremendously close to some of my cousins; we share the same wider family and have similar natures. Often we can see the family likenesses in our children and can share the same sense of humour and the like. But we weren't brought up in the same household so don't have that very particular background that individual families have.
People of other faiths seem to be like my second cousins; we don't know each other as well, but recognise some unifying factors in our experiences, have relatives in common and the like. People of no faith are like my neighbours; we share the same environment, even if we don't know each other very well. We have the same interests in common as regards the place where we live and most of us want the best for that space for ourselves and for each other, as, ultimately, that is what is in all our best interests.
In that way, everyone matters to me in some way or another because we all share the same planet, however well or little we know each other. No-one has ever expressed this better than John Donne in that marvellous piece of prose which begins; "No man is an island", well worth anyone's reading.
Had I been born and reared in an Anglican or Methodist, Jewish, Islamic or atheistic family, the relationships would be similar but juxtaposed. It would be so marvellous, I believe, if we could all learn to see each other in this way; so many concerns and interests in common; so many reasons to work together, rather than apart, to build a better world for all.
Well, because, and only because, I was born and have remained a Catholic, Catholics seem to me to be like my brothers and sisters. This is similar to my biological family; just because we were born and raised in the same family doesn't make us best friends or more important to each other than anyone else; far from it. It just means that we have so many shared experiences and memories, were brought up with the same standards and values, shared the same house, same relatives, listened/watched the same programmes, etc etc, that there is a terrific familiarity.
Other Christians seem to me to be like my first cousins. As it happens, I am tremendously close to some of my cousins; we share the same wider family and have similar natures. Often we can see the family likenesses in our children and can share the same sense of humour and the like. But we weren't brought up in the same household so don't have that very particular background that individual families have.
People of other faiths seem to be like my second cousins; we don't know each other as well, but recognise some unifying factors in our experiences, have relatives in common and the like. People of no faith are like my neighbours; we share the same environment, even if we don't know each other very well. We have the same interests in common as regards the place where we live and most of us want the best for that space for ourselves and for each other, as, ultimately, that is what is in all our best interests.
In that way, everyone matters to me in some way or another because we all share the same planet, however well or little we know each other. No-one has ever expressed this better than John Donne in that marvellous piece of prose which begins; "No man is an island", well worth anyone's reading.
Had I been born and reared in an Anglican or Methodist, Jewish, Islamic or atheistic family, the relationships would be similar but juxtaposed. It would be so marvellous, I believe, if we could all learn to see each other in this way; so many concerns and interests in common; so many reasons to work together, rather than apart, to build a better world for all.
Saturday, 20 August 2016
About the source of love
I completely believe that the little pool of love which I feel within my heart,
must be fed from an infinite ocean of love -
and that is what I call God.
must be fed from an infinite ocean of love -
and that is what I call God.
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