Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.
New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit.
~ John O’Donohue ~
[Excerpt from ‘For The Traveller’ in Benedictus 2007]
The Rhythm of Light’s Disappearance
each month for three nights the moon disappears
a darkness comes over to envelope us
this interval of no light has a rhythm
this time is not one to fear
touch what comes to greet you
grasp what has dared to appear
embrace what has once been avoided
For a faith that endures is a faith that engages
even on those nights of no moon
the moon is still there
it is only we who behave
as if the lack of reflection means an absence
Here is a spring image I photographed today – kowhai – springtime in Aotearoa!
Sure, we love daffodils, but in our midst, from this land, are our own gorgeous golden spring flowers that the birds come and delight in!
So… have you some words to go with the image?
Prayers, poems and blessings for the Aotearoa Spring – send them in, let’s share!
Send them in email@example.com
or hit the comment button
I was thinking recently about some of the people I struggle with and to what degree my struggle with them is about me. They are, of course, complete and utter idiots – whereas I am not. Actually, they are not such things any more or less than I am, but my dismissal of them is expressed in a tone of self-righteousness . It is a tone of cursing.
I have been reading some of John O’Donohue’s writings this year. He has written books of blessings. It is like he learned to see and speak in only one way, that of lifting people up and seeing the light about him and them.
I came up with these words…
Blessings & Curses
Let us be careful with our words, our thoughts, our judgements.
To bless is to lay aside any sense
that we have the right to hold anything over anyone. Continue reading
Some thoughts on translating the gospel in our culture by Martin Stewart
It seems to me that this is a season for renegotiation with our communities.
If we conduct a wedding or a funeral, we need to attend to the fact that many of those gathered do not share the faith we speak from – some may engage with aspects of it, others will resist it… many will have a prejudicial attitude that we can either reinforce or destabilize.
It does not seem appropriate to me anymore to roll out scriptural passages or make faith statements without some attempt at translating and gently inviting people into a God-filled way of seeing. We can no longer assume people speak or understand our language.
It is a delegate space to manoeuvre in. The opportunities for a gospel conversation are less frequent than they once were. We can blow it instantly by rolling out the cliches, preaching at people, and talking as if we know everything. We have plenty of cliches, many have a long history and need to be put to bed. We have got good at preaching at people who expect us to behave in this manner, but they have become few in number. And, of course, we do not know everything – we only get to see through a mirror dimly – we need to be careful, open, and honest about the space between what is and what will be.
This poem emerged out of an introduction I offered at a recent funeral – the image came from the hills around Makara in Wellington.
we want clarity before the mysteries
but we gain barely a glimpse
a passing shadow
a leaf falling from a tree
some have practiced a life of glimpsing
exhibiting a quiet confidence
insight to what exists in the space between things
knowing enough to know
an unforced word from one of them
can be a small seed of hope
a window to a horizon
a place to set one’s foot
I wrote the following poem a few weeks ago for the funeral of a woman from the Bryndwr part of The Village Church – thus some of the specifics come from her story. I wrote it as an imaginative exercise as I thought about the flash of memory that seems to be a common element in the experience of dying – at least that is what those who didn’t quite die tell us!
The invitation for those of us who remain, I suggest, is to accumulate memories for that final flash of memory. Continue reading
mist at kyeburn
the air in our first breath isn’t simply air
as if the air is a neutral disconnected thing
the air is an accumulation
an ancient system of to-ing and fro-ing
this molecule to that
this particle to that
from here to there
from seabed to shell
from wave to shore
from ground to plant
to where we find ourselves
with our first intake of breath
and every breath thereafter
all that is living
and all that has lived
I wrote the following poem after preparing a reflection for the Easter chapel service at St Andrew’s College. It ended up at the end of the reflection. I am keen to encourage poems and reflections and prayers to be part of the Candour resource. So many of us are using our imaginations week by week and the outcome of what we develop tends to get one outing before being shelved. I offer this by way of encouragement! Please feel welcome to begin a conversation by sending some of your writing… martin(at)villagechurch.nz
A painting I first encountered as an 18 year old prompted me to reflect on the face of Christ and the various faces I wear and have worn. The painting is Jesus Bearing The Cross by Hieronymus Bosch (1515 or so). The face of Christ is of a man at peace deep within despite what is happening to him. You can glance at it here:
I want a face that reveals
I want a face that reveals
what is going on inside me.
It is not that I want to show off
the speed of my understanding
For most of my understandings
have taken so much time to sink in
that the face I wore at the time
I first heard any revelation
is long forgotten.
Nor is it because I am now
so happy with what is inside me
that the beauty of what lies within
will radiate all the loveliness
of my soul at peace.
No, I want a face that reveals
that fear no longer dominates.
I want a face that reveals
openness to the wind
confidence in the light
ease with my neighbour
forgiveness of those who would harm me
a posture of delight in the possibility of things…
A face so free,
that I can be courageous
even when descending into a mess.
At the end of the road
a dirt track zig zags up the mountain
into the clouds of unknowing.
To be here you must leave there
(wherever “there” is),
defying the gravity of your own importance,
the unfaithful way this busy world offers itself to you
and the blindness of a life without a horizon.
As reception fades to one intermittent bar,
contact with the outside world is all but
under this wide sky
to a wider conversation
worthy of the landscape of your soul.
Shy shadows come out from their corners,
ears hear a silence splinter granite rocks;
the lies and excuses you’ve told yourself,
and eyes are renewed by a soft gaze
as outlines become clear.
In this place,
words are surrendered to the wind,
to the arriving of your breath.
Andrew Norton 2016
The Amuri Hills at Hanmer Springs provided some beautiful space for reflection this week where Andrew Norton was leading a collection of people from Alpine Presbytery to the land of ‘Awake!’
“…everything that becomes visible is light.
Therefore it says,
Rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.’”
you would want
to be awake
early these days
when autumnal skies
pick up summer’s dust
refracting the light of dawn
you would want to find
a high place where you could
take off your shoes
in the clean air
before winter’s banked fires
smoke the atmosphere
you would want
to keep silence
the sacred space
between dreaming and working
you would want to be
washed by the emerging colour
as the things of the day come into focus
you are ready then
to attend to
and the beckoning tasks
martin stewart 2016