Tuesday 18 December 2018

Christmas services information

SPECIAL SERVICES...

Sun 23 Dec. 10.30am:
'Looking forward to Christmas' -
all-age, less formal worship this morning, for the young and the young at heart.

Mon 24 Dec. 11pm:
'Winter warm up' -

In the bleak midwinter, preparing for Watchnight,
warm yourself up with a hot cuppa and mince pies in the church hall, Abington...
and then:
11.30pm-12.10am: Watchnight service in the church featuring friends from
Leadhills Silver Band. Join us as we welcome in the Christ-child and sing in
Christmas morning.

Sun 30 Dec. 10.30am:
A service of lessons and carols - 

the traditional re-telling of the Christmas story through readings and songs

Sunday 16 December 2018

Sunday 16 Dec, Advent 3: Important births - 'John the Baptist'

READINGS: Luke 1:5-25; Luke 1:57-66; Luke 1:67-80

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer, amen.

A little earlier we lit our third Advent candle thinking of the theme ‘joy’ ...
Joy.
It’s a word that, for me, has an immediate link to the comedian,
Rikky Fulton and his great creation, the Rev. I. M. Jolly who is anything but jolly and joyful in look and in attitude.
And so friends, today, I get to say his immortal words:
‘Hullo...  today we’re thinking about...   ‘joy’'
It’s such an old sketch, but it still gives me the giggles – because it was so beautifully done.
So, today, we’re going to think about joy – joy and John the Baptist.
And rather than a long, depressed, I. M. Jolly reflection, let’s begin with some really
diabolically bad... I mean, fabulous, John the Baptist jokes –
because, yes, there are some floating about.
Are you ready?
Then here we go:
What do Winnie the Pooh and John the Baptist have in common?
A/ They have the same middle name.

Why did John the Baptist take his shoes off before going into the water?
A/ He wanted to save soles!

Thinking about the young John:
Little Johnny's mother looked out the window and noticed him
"playing church" with their cat.
He had the cat sitting quietly and he was preaching to it.
She smiled and went about her work.
A while later she heard loud meowing and hissing
and ran back to the open window to see Johnny baptizing the cat in a tub of water.
She called out,
"Johnny, stop that! The cat is afraid of water!"
Johnny looked up at her and said,
"He should have thought about that before he joined my church."

And the last one, this when John was older:
John the Baptist used to walk through the desert in his bare feet.
This left his feet tough, which is understandable –
the hot sand and rough terrain would leave anyone's feet tough.
He was known to receive signs from God and occasionally perform mystical feats.
He subsisted on a diet of locusts and honey.
Without access to dental hygiene at the time, this left him with somewhat bad breath.
It also left him frail, as the diet wasn't varied and would have required an immense
intake of food to be remotely sustained.
I guess that you could say that he was...
okay, are you ready it...I'm really, really, sorry...:
a super-callused fragile mystic vexed with halitosis.

I could keep telling jokes, but you might just stone me.
So, joy, and John the Baptist:
In our first reading, we meet Zechariah, John’s dad.
He’s a priest, and when we meet him, it’s his turn to serve in the Temple.
There he is, going about his job in this most holy of places when God shows up:
or, more precisely, God’s messenger, the angel, Gabriel.
It’s occasionally amused me that Zechariah, a servant of God,
is actually surprised to have an experience of God in what is the house of prayer,
but, nevertheless, he is.
On the other hand, if we're being generous, perhaps it’s a lesson in not taking God for granted.
The angel tells Zechariah that he and his wife, though now quite elderly,
shall have a child, a son.
And there are conditions placed upon the way this child is to live out his life:
he is never to touch wine, or fermented drink of any kind...
Now, for those of you here last week, does this story not rather have
very strong echoes of the birth story of Samson?
In this case, however, the son will not be a deliverer of God’s people,
rather, he’ll prepare them for the coming of God’s deliverer – the Messiah long foretold.
Further, Zechariah is told by the angel what name to give to the child –
and, as we discover later, it’s not a name that has ever done the rounds
of that particular family group.
This new child will have a new name – marking him out as special.
The angel also tells Zechariah that John will be
‘a joy and a delight’ to Zechariah and Elizabeth,
but the joy doesn’t stop there:
many will rejoice because of John’s birth.
What amazing news.

So, there Zechariah stands:
in the temple,
in the holiest place in the temple,
faced with God’s messenger, the angel, Gabriel, hearing this incredible message.
Now, remember, when angels tend to appear to folk in the bible,
the first thing they often say is:
‘Do not be afraid...’
Angels, clearly, are pretty imposing beings.
But there's no real indication that Zechariah actually *is* afraid.
Instead, having seen the angel and heard the news, Zechariah says:
‘How can I be sure this is true?’
Seriously??
A plaguey great angel is standing there in front of him and he asks this?
And, as we heard in our reading, Gabriel pretty much responds with:
‘Okay, how about this – I’ll cause you not to be able to speak for a while.’
Effectively an angelic ‘time-out’ for Zechariah to use to do a little deeper reflecting.
Eventually, he emerges from the Temple –
and, because he’s been in there so long,
and he’s suddenly lost his ability to speak,
everyone there knows something’s happened.
Despite his speech problems, he still manages to communicate
to Elizabeth what’s gone on
and, what’s going to happen.
She accepts the news, and, in a little foreshadowing of Mary’s story shortly after,
Elizabeth says, as Mary will also:
‘The Lord has shown his favour to me.’

At the right time, this special child is born –
and again we have this theme of joy coming in:
it’s not just Zechariah and Elizabeth who are joyful – the whole community shares the joy.
But what to name the child?
All sorts of family names are suggested by family and friends –
so, when Zechariah affirms Elizabeth in the choice of the name ‘John’ everyone is surprised.
It’s at that point when Zechariah’s long silence is broken.
And his first words?
A wonderful song of joy:
from ‘how can I be sure’ to a joy-filled affirmation of faith.
To a nation under Roman captivity, Zechariah’s song declares God’s faithfulness:
that God will come and save his people,
that God has not forgotten them,
that God has chosen them to serve him without fear –
unlike having to kow-tow to their Roman masters for fear of retribution.

Zechariah then sings of his son, and the role that John will have in God’s plan:
he will be a prophet,
he will prepare the way for the Lord –
by teaching God’s people of God’s mercy and forgiveness;
by pointing them to the light that shines even in the darkest places,
even in the shadow of death.
John, the prophet,
will guide them to the way –
Jesus, the Way, the Truth, and the Life;
Jesus, upon whom the hope of  all God’s people is founded;
Jesus, the Prince of peace, who will lead God’s people to the path of peace –
where there will be no more war,
no more being crushed under the heel of earthly Emperors and empires,
where there will be no ‘other’ only brothers, and sisters.
John, the one who will be a joy and a delight to Zechariah and Elizabeth,
and be a cause of rejoicing to many,
will lead God’s people to joy –
to Jesus,
the One who is the joy of all God’s people:
for in him there is freedom, life, liberation.

In this season of Advent, John still points the way for us,
the way to Jesus, the Way –
John beckons us, as God’s people
to follow the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life;
he calls us to prepare our hearts,
to make room,
to let in ...not just... a happy feeling, for feelings come and go...
but that great, deep, profound joy that only Jesus can give:
a joy based upon God’s great faithfulness,
a joy that shines not just in the good times,
but shines in the hard places we find ourselves;
a joy that comes from serving God not out of fear, but from being loved.
This is the good news, which causes us to not only love and serve God,
but the whole of creation, and all humankind –
not for our own gain, but for sheer love’s sake.
It’s a joy that has at its heart the knowledge that
we are God’s and that we are not forgotten.
As you continue to watch and wait and prepare once more
to remember the coming of the Christ-child,
may you hear John’s message of joy,
may his message unsettle you in a good and curious way
so that you seek to know more of the deep, profound, and real joy of the God
who casts away fear
and calls us all to transform the world in love. Amen.

Tuesday 11 December 2018

Special services over the Christmas period....

SPECIAL SERVICES...

Sat 15 Dec. 2pm:
'Tidings of comfort and joy'
-
a quiet service in the church at Abington, where we remember loved ones who, for whatever reason, won't be home for Christmas.
Refreshments in the hall after.

Sun 16 Dec. 6.30pm:
'Scotland's highest carol service' -
Join us this year in Leadhills Village Hall. Featuring music from our friends in the Leadhills Silver Band.
Sing along to your favourite carols in Scotand's 2nd highest village [we alternate!]

Sun 23 Dec. 10.30am:
'Looking forward to Christmas' -
all-age, less formal worship this morning, for the young and the young at heart.

Mon 24 Dec. 11pm:
'Winter warm up' -

In the bleak midwinter, preparing for Watchnight,
warm yourself up with a hot cuppa and mince pies in the church hall, Abington...
and then:
11.30pm-12.10am: Watchnight service in the church featuring friends from
Leadhills Silver Band. Join us as we welcome in the Christ-child and sing in
Christmas morning.

Sun 30 Dec. 10.30am:
A service of lessons and carols - 

the traditional re-telling of the Christmas story through readings and songs

Sunday 9 December 2018

Advent 2: Sun 9 Dec - 'Important births, wk2: Samson'

The second in our Advent series on the theme of important births.
This week, some thoughts on the story of Samson.
Like Moses before him, Samson is destined to be a leader of God's people.
But what kind of a man, and what kind of a deliverer is he?
In the story, it's also interesting to see who and what is named, or not named.
Who is given value by the writer of the text, through the power of naming,
and who is deemed unvalued? And then, there's the power of names in and of themselves...
Below, our readings, a brief reflection, and then today's sermon.

READINGS: Judges 13:2-24; Judges 16:4-17; Judges 16:18-31

REFLECTION ‘Her name means “night”’ 
She is dark of night
to his blazing sun;
schemer, and betrayer
to his strength and heroic status.
She is called to cause his fall;
he is called to bring deliverance.
Seems so simple,
so very black and white.
Delilah, the bad
to Samson’s good.
But this is not some Hollywood Western:
bad girls in black hats,
the good guys in white.
Her name means ‘night’,
forever a creature of darkness,
but when men hold all the power
and she is fighting to survive,
she’ll use what she can.
And when the men in power
see the Champion of their enemies
in her company
what is she to do?
Oh, they’ll pay her well,
but if she refuses,
they know where her family live.
His name means ‘sun’
and he believes the world revolves around
him,
sees nothing but his own need.
A flawed hero
who’s already left his first wife
to the world’s tender mercies.
She makes the meal,
pours the wine,
uses her power
to live.
© N Macdonald

SERMON ‘The sun child’
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen

Sometimes when people name their children,
they don’t realise what a burden they are
placing on that child for the rest of its life.
For example, it would be pretty hard getting through life with a name like:
Ben Dover
There’s a biblical scholar named Eugene Boring...
who, incidentally, isn’t.
It might be a tad tricky being a political candidate with the name Oliver Loser –
or the political analyst rejoicing in the name Krystal Ball...
actually, I think we could use her here in the UK at the moment with all this Brexit stuff.
Would you buy property from a real estate agent called Wendy Whacko?

Now, if you’ve escaped a tricky birth name,
what happens when, due to life circumstances, your name changes?
In the unfortunate double-barrelled married name department,
meet Joe McDonald who married his sweetheart, Catherine Berger,
so becaming the McDonald-Bergers... this is true, honest!
Or, in the ‘I’ve got a new title to put in front of my name’ category
we remember the now-deceased Bishop Jaime Sin, who became a Cardinal...
thus becoming Cardinal Sin.
Names can be a very difficult and tricky business
and, as we see in our Bible reading this morning,
names can be carried down through the centuries and become weighed down with meaning.
It would be hard to live up to a name such as Samson if you were just a wee, frail laddie
– or, for that matter, if as a girl, you had to try live down being given the name Delilah,
with some of the less than savoury overtones that’s gathered over the years.
Some of those old Hollywood Biblical epics have a lot to answer for, I think.
However, both names come with quite a reputation.

Let’s think about Samson’s story –
and truly, I’ve never really quite known what to make of it –
there are so many contradictions and moral ambiguities.
Perhaps this is an example of God's community learning together,
so I look forward to conversations over coffee after worship!
Anyway, Samson’s story –
There’s a few names in the beginning:
We have a place name: our story begins in Zorah.
And we zoom in on a chap called Manoah.
He belongs to the clan called the Danites.
His wife... oh, wait.
All these names, and yet, when we get to her – she is unnamed.
But, it’s to this unnamed woman that the angel of the Lord appears and says:
‘You will conceive and have a son’
I suspect we may be hearing similar words spoken
by an angel to a woman in upcoming weeks...
The angel, having told the woman that she'll have a baby
proceeds to give some strict instructions:
this is going to be a very special child –
while she is pregnant she must not drink alcohol or eat unclean food.
When she’s had the child, who will be a boy,
the child must never drink alcohol,
must never eat prohibited food,
and must on no account cut his hair.
Why?
He is to become a Nazirite.
What's that?
Basically, a person set aside for God’s work, in this case, to deliver Israel from her enemies.
Incidentally, even the enemies are named:
the Philistines.

As we heard in the story, the woman with no name heads off to tell her husband.
Eventually the husband meets with the Angel,
and, in conversation, asks the name of the angel.
No name is given – the Angel declares that it’s beyond human understanding.
Eventually, the child is born and we learn that his name is Samson.
Now the general rule of thumb when telling a story is that,
you tend to know who the important people are – they get a name.
The ones deemed unimportant, well, why waste time and effort giving them
a name, after all, to the teller of the tale, who cares?

But of everyone and everything that is named so far
- apart from Samson - 
it’s the two who don’t have names that matter the most.
Let’s be blunt, there’s nothing insignificant about the angel of the Lord:
this is God’s messenger, sent from the very heavens to earth to deliver huge news –
God has seen the plight of Israel and will rescue them.
And then, there’s the woman:
without her, there can be no special child, no deliverer to come to Israel’s aid.
Behind the story, we find that, whether named or unnamed by fellow human beings,
nevertheless, all are known to God,
all have their place, and purpose,
for all are God’s children,
and all are called,
and all are important to God's story overall.

But let’s think about this special child, Samson.
His name means ‘sun’.
He will rule as a Judge in the time when Israel has no kings.
It’s a pretty chaotic time, a time when good leadership is needed.
So, in a sense, the light of Samson’s rule as a Judge should bring relief to
the beleaguered Israelites suffering constant attack by those pesky Philistines.
Just as the planets revolve around the sun, so the people look to Samson.
But he’s a flawed hero:
he’s utterly self-absorbed.
He lives up to his name in so far as in his own mind,
everything revolved around him and his needs.
Sure, he’ll go and kill a bunch of Philistines every now and then,
but... he is not a wise leader.
He deliberately provokes and enjoys causing trouble –
a seeker of peace he is not.
And, remember those conditions placed upon him as a baby?
Yeah, he’s cheerfully not bothered much about them at all.
Samson is obsessed with violence and women.
He may be physically strong,
but his mentally and morally puny.
There’s a dark side to Samson – the ‘sun’ child.

And what of Delilah?
Her name means ‘night’.
She is the night to his sun...
and she’ll be the one who will cause him to finally succumb to his
enemies because of his lack of inner strength.
Samson, the ‘sun’, will be captured,
his purpose as a deliverer seemingly snuffed out.
His power, his purpose, even his sight, will fail
and he will fall into the darkness of captivity –
he too, will become like night.

The ironic thing about Samson is that,
it’s only at the end of his life when he has lost everything,
and, when he’s had time to reflect - for that is all that’s left to him -
it’s only then, that he seems able to look beyond himself and cry out to God:
the God, who has always been with him,
but who Samson had pretty much ignored up to this point.
As he thinks of God,
Samson remembers he is special,
that longed-for child foretold by an angel;
the one who would deliver Israel.
Here, in the temple of another God,
chained to the central pillars,
blinded, shamed, enslaved,
Samson remembers God’s call upon his life.
And yet, he has always been a violent man, self-centred man.
Even as he remembers that call, he finds a way to make this about him:
so he seeks revenge and a death by violence.
The writer of Samson’s story tells us that he finds his strength and, in one last act,
this flawed hero of Israel manages to kill more Philistines as he dies,
than in all of the time he lives.

What do we make of Samson?
I suspect that, despite some of the old Sunday School resource material
I used to see around the place, Samson’s probably not the best
role model for your children... or perhaps any of us.
Perhaps this is less a story about a hero,
and more a story about potential wasted?
Perhaps it’s also a story about how we define strength and power.
Samson ruled by physical might – his sheer, brute strength.
His fists bought peace for a time,
delivering Israel from the attacks of Philistines,
but in no lasting way.
Violence brought more violence –
an endless cycle:
again, he was no man of peace.

His life begins seemingly so favourably:
this is God’s special child;
this child is given particular gifts;
he grows up and becomes a leader –
but one more interested in looking out for himself,
not looking out for the people...
sometimes those interests coincide,
at times they don’t.
He has been given a good start in life,
and he has been given much during his life –
as well as taking much.
In the end, after a lifetime of suiting himself,
when he finds he no longer has any power
at all, he rediscovers God.

Deliverer or destroyer?
Hero or anti-hero?
Perhaps he’s a useful warning:
of what happens when you squander your God-given gifts and potential?
It’s a very mixed tale with Samson.
Having led the people for twenty chaotic years, he dies.
There will be others that God raises up to help deliver the Israelites –
some will be a whole lot better than Samson,
yet all are flawed and fallible humans.
Even the great King David is guilty of murder.
Who can the people of God turn to?
Who will be the one deliverer
who won’t fall, or fail?

In this season of Advent, when thinking of God’s promise of deliverance,
it’s not to Samson we turn –
even though an angel proclaimed his birth.
In the end, God sends Jesus:
the only one able to truly, fully deliver God’s people –
each of whom are known and named:
for in God’s story,
whether weak or strong,
high profile or barely visible by the standards of the world...
we are all important and our names matter,
and all of us worth rescuing. Amen.

Wednesday 5 December 2018

Advent 1: Sun 2 Dec: Important births, wk 1 - Moses

Communion Sunday, in which we shared bread and wine at the table of the Lord.
Having been fed, so in our giving of thanks, we look beyond ourselves to the needs of others.
The food bank box has reappeared and will be in the vestibule until after worship on Sun 16 Dec.

Huge thanks to those who already filled the box prior to morning worship - that's excellent!
And many thanks to those outwith the congregation who have been so generous with donations.

Our Advent series this year reflects on important births. This week, we thought about Moses.

READINGS: Exodus 1:1-22; Ex 2:1-10;
Acts 7:17-34

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our deliverer. Amen.

As I was looking at our texts for this morning,
and thinking of the Advent theme of hope,
I was reminded of Nina Simone’s classic song:
‘I wish I knew how it would feel to be free’
and of a particular event in the 20th century.
First, the opening verse of the song:
I wish I knew how
It would feel to be free
I wish I could break
All the chains holding me
I wish I could say
All the things that I should say
Say 'em loud say 'em clear
For the whole round world to hear

And the event?
It’s the evening of the 1st of December.
She’s had a long day at work.
Her shift over, she leaves, and heads for the bus stop.
The bus arrives, she gets on board,
walks along the aisle past empty rows of seats,
and settles herself just behind the 10th row.
Several stops later, the rows in front of her are now completely full.
More people get on board, but, are now all standing up the front.
The driver comes down to the 10th row,
takes a sign from its place on the back of the seat, and moves it a few rows back.
He looks at her, and those sitting in the several rows
that have suddenly changed their designation and orders them to move back
behind that sign – to give up their seats to the folk standing at the front of the bus.
One by one they get up and move...
except one.
She is not moving.
She’s tired – not physically –
she’s tired of giving in,
giving in to a system designed to beat her down:
to treat people like her as less than fully human.

The police are called.
She’s arrested and taken off to the police station for having broken the law.
The law that requires her to only sit in specially designated places,
the law that requires her to give up her seat on a bus, when asked,
to someone else deemed more worthy solely because of the colour of their skin, someone...white.

63 years ago, Rosa Parks made a stand for justice by the act of sitting down –
and, as the news of what happened that night on the bus in Montgomery, Alabama, spread,
hope for change began to spark, and light up the hearts
of those others who, like Rosa, were oppressed by racism deep, deep within
the structures of the society they lived in.

90 years before, the Civil War had seen the end of slavery;
even so, freedom was a long time coming for those in the South –
and while in law freedom has been won,
in practice, there are still those who continue to deny people of colour basic human rights.
However, on that night in December, Rosa, in a spontaneous act of refusing to move,
became a symbol of the Civil Rights Movement,
a symbol of hope.
Later, she would say:
'I would like to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free...
so other people would be also free.'
One, seemingly ordinary woman,
a woman of courage and conviction,
with a strong desire for freedom,
and with hope in her heart and in her God,
accomplished great change.

In the story of Moses that we heard earlier,
the desire for freedom is a key theme,
and underlying that freedom are acts by individuals, who,
despite the most dire of circumstances, manage to hold on to hope.
Let’s go back a little, however, before Moses is born.
Several weeks ago, we journeyed with Joseph –
son of Jacob;
Joseph the dreamer with the fancy coat;
Joseph the favourite;
Joseph the annoying little brother
who is eventually so loathed by his brothers
that he is sold into slavery by them and ends up in Egypt.
We know that in Joseph’s case, he prospers, and, in the end,
not only has found favour with Pharaoh,
not only has he rescued Egypt from famine,
he is also, eventually reconciled to his family –
they are welcomed by Pharaoh to join Joseph,
to settle in Egypt,
to live off the fat of the land,
and to prosper.

Time passed.
Joseph and his generation died.
Pharaoh also died.
The descendants of Joseph and his family had indeed prospered –
Egypt had been good to them and for them.
But Joseph’s story had somehow been forgotten.
A new pharaoh looked at these ‘foreigners’ and wanted them out:
and, isn’t that a recurring theme all down through history?
‘We don’t like them. They’re different.
They’re taking over. Time they went home’...
forgetting that for many, the UK...
sorry, I mean Egypt...
had been their home all their lives.

And so new laws came into force –
life became hard for the Hebrew people in Egypt.
Any rights or privileges were stripped away –
their freedoms were curtailed and they became slaves.
A system of genetic selection is put in place:
Pharaoh instructs the two Hebrew midwives – Shiprah and Puah –
to kill all baby boys.
With no men of their own to marry,
the baby girls when grown, would have no choice
but to intermarry, and eventually assimilate.
Into this time of dire darkness, then, we have a small story of hope,
hope held in the hearts of two women
of courage and conviction and compassion,
who chose to subvert the system:
who quietly disobeyed the orders of the most powerful man in the land.

Eventually, a crack down occurs –
and, it’s at this particular time that a couple marry, conceive,
and have a baby son, who they hide.
Now, this seems to be a second marriage:
for it appears there’s a sister on the scene.
Like the midwives, she’s pretty canny.
With it getting more difficult to hide the child,
the only seeming hope of survival is to put him into a reed basket
and, strategically, push that basket a little way downriver,
just at the time when Pharaoh’s daughter is bathing.
The sister looks on to see what will happen.
The baby happily drifts into view of the princess and before you can say:
‘perhaps I can find a wet nurse for you’
this seemingly insignificant baby is saved...
a baby, who we discover, in our reading from Acts, is ‘no ordinary man’.
This rather important baby is raised in Pharaoh’s palace, and later,
when seeing the treatment of his people, tries to do something about it:
admittedly, he makes a mess of it.
He’s forced to flee – where he marries, has children,
loses the ‘softness’ of palace living and toughens up.

It’s when forty years have passed,
that God calls him –
that God sees within him that man from long ago who wanted to help his people...
and God draws this out once more –
God has seen the oppression of his people and has come to set them free...
and it is within God’s call that this ordinary,
but not ordinary man, effectively becomes the symbol of hope for his people.

We’ve looked back at the story of the
birth of Moses and we look forward.
At Advent, and at Christmas, so often you’ll hear from scripture the words
‘as the time drew near.’
In the case of Moses:
‘as the time drew near for God to fulfil his promise to Abraham.’
In the case of the Christ-child, we wait, with hope,
as the time draws near to remember once again,
God’s promise to the whole of humanity,
fulfilled in the birth of one small child.
Like Moses, that child was born
at a time when things seemed darkest for God’s people,
living as they did under Roman occupation;
living under the rule of a puppet king –
Herod, the Great, who was so paranoid about losing power, that he, like Pharaoh,
issued an order to kill all boy babies.

Both have a time of waiting and preparation –
although Moses doesn’t realise that’s what it is until God calls him.
Jesus quietly prepares for his life’s work and before embarking upon it,
he spends time in the Wilderness.

God has seen the oppression of his people.
In Jesus, he comes to set them free...
Jesus becomes a symbol of liberating hope –
and the torch is lit,
and hope spreads –
not just to those under the yoke of Roman oppression,
but down through the ages,
to all people:
wherever the darkness looms and threatens to crush life,
there we find Jesus bringing hope:
fully human, yet, fully God –
God on the side of those chained into debt
by unscrupulous lenders and crippling borrowing fees;
God on the side of those seeking freedom
and finding themselves chained at the hands of human traffickers;
God on the side of all who are singled out and
bullied, or systematically brutalised for being somehow different;
God on the side of families fleeing unjust governments -
who long for asylum and safety, only to be met by tear gas canisters.
God on the side of all people who no longer need fear death,
for in Christ, even death has been defeated.

This first Sunday of Advent, we think of hope.
We think of seemingly insignificant people,
just getting on with their lives,
people who held hope in their hearts,
and, with that hope, were able to stand up for others –
by sitting down on a bus, like Rosa Parks;
or by subverting powerful kings, like Shiprah and Pruah -
ordinary people who trusted in God.
We think of all those following God’s call for freedom from oppression,
hope holders, hope givers:
even... people like us –
who can use our hands, our hearts, our voices, and anything else we have,
to let that hope shine in the darkness,
so that others may see it,
and take courage,
and know that God has seen their oppression and has come to set them free.

We, as God’s ordinary, extraordinary people,
continue the work that God began way back near the beginning of all things,
we continue the work as shown in the life of Jesus:
for we are now his body in the world –
the work of hope,
the work of justice,
the work of bringing in God’s kingdom,
where all know true freedom in God.
It is a work that is mix of the wondrous,
and the everyday, of sorrow and of joy;
it is our life’s work as Christians and may seem daunting...
but, if even the power of death has been defeated what have we to fear?
We need nothing more than to hold firmly on to hope in the One who calls us. Amen.

Tuesday 13 November 2018

News, contacts, info Tues 14 - Wed 28 Nov


The Minister will be unavailable from 
Tues 14 Nov to Wed 28 Nov


Urgent pastoral cover will be provided by the Rev. George Shand of the Tinto Parishes. His number is 01899 309400.
For general parish queries, please contact Heather Watt, our Session Clerk on 01899 850211

What's On?
Morning worship:
Sun 18 Nov, 10.30am: we welcome the Rev. Dr Anne Logan who will be conducting worship this week and next.
Readings/ 1 Sam. 1:21-28  Hebrews 10:11-25   Mark 13:1-8

Sun 25 Nov, 10.30am: worship with the Rev. Dr Anne Logan.
Our readings this week are: 2 Sam 23:1-7  Revelation 1:4[b]-8  John 18:33-38[a]
and/
Evening worship, 6.30pm will be held in Leadhills Village Hall. Jen Nicholls will be leading.
All are welcome to this shorter, more informal time of worship. Home baking and a cuppa will be available after worship with the chance for a blether.

Remembrance Centenary poppies: many thanks to everyone involved in our poppy project! It was a great response, and the display looked stunning. The Centenary has passed, and the display is now down. The poppies will be extracted from the nets and gathered together, and we'll be offering them for donations of £1 minimum, from October, 2019, in the lead-up to next year's Remembrance Day.
Monies raised will be given to Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes. Once again, thanks for your generosity of time, wool, and creativity.

Parish magazine: the Christmas edition - our usual call for volunteers to help with the distribution of our parish magazine. If you can deliver some to neighbours in your street, or several streets in your village...or to outlying areas, please see our Editor, Dee, who is coordinating areas. Huge thanks in advance - we can't do this without you, and always appreciate the willing offers of help!
The magazine should be available to collect from the 18th Nov.

Food Bank Box: 
Matt. 25:35 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, 
I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink’ 
2 December, our food bank box will be appearing in the vestibule once again for donations of dry/ tinned goods/ toiletries for the Clydesdale Food Bank. If you have items to donate, that would be excellent: we shall make sure they get to their destination! Slightly longer ‘use-by’ dates would be helpful. The box will be uplifted after the 16th, to ensure items can be given out before Christmas.

2 Dec, 10.30am: We mark the beginning of Advent with our quarterly Communion service.
Please let friends and neighbours know. And, as ever, all are welcome at the table.

Monday 12 November 2018

Remembrance Day 2018

In the lead up to Remembrance Day, people from around the villages knitted and crocheted poppies. There were used to make a display marking the Centenary of the end of WW1. Some of the fruit of our labours can be seen in these photos, which were take after worship.
Thanks to everyone involved in creating the display.

Following the pattern of these centenary years,
as we moved toward our Act of Remembrance, this year we reflected the events of 1918 and thought of the act of remembrance itself, through the following poems:

Roderick Watson Kerr
1893 - 1960
w. March 1918, German Spring Offensive:
From the line
Born in Edinburgh, Kerr served as a Lieutenant in the 2nd Royal Tank Corps. he was wounded, and won the Militry Cross  during the German Spring Offensive. Surviving the war, he worked as a journalist at the Scotsman, and for the Liverpool Daily Post...

The 'Teddy' window:
representing families affected by war -
sons lost, or fathers. And also those innocents
caught up in the conflict, who lived in towns
and villages where fighting took place.
The poppy buttons are very tiny teddies...
John Munro
1889 - d. April, 1918, German Spring Offensive:
Our heroes who fell in battle
John Munro was born in Lewis, and educated there and at Aberdeen University. Munro volunteered at the outbreak of the War, serving in the ranks of the 4th Seaforth Highlanders before being commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in 1916. He, like Kerr, won the Military Cross. However, unlike Kerr, Munro was killed in April 1918 during the German Spring Offensive.
He primarily wrote in Gaelic

Wilfred Owen
1893 - d. 4/11/1918
Anthem for doomed youth
One of the most famous of the soldier-poets was Wilfrid Owen. Owen was born in Oswestry on the Welsh Border. Living in France and working as a tutor at the outbreak of the war, Owen arrived in the trenches of the Western Front in the bitter January of 1917, acting as a Second Lieutenant. Almost immediately he was thrown into heavy fighting. He was hospitalised in May, and later sent to Craiglockhart Hospital in Edinburgh, suffering from shell shock. He composed nearly all of his poems within the space of a year while convalescing, from August 1917 to September 1918, when he returned to France and to the war. He won the Military Cross, and died just a week before the peace, on the 4th of November.

Marion Angus
1865-1946
Remembrance Day 
Marion Angus was born in Sunderland, of Scottish parents, and spent her formative years in Arbroath. Before the War, she ran a private school. During the war, she joined in the war effort by working in the canteen at Stobbs Camp.

Rounding off these readings, as is our usual practice, we heard In Flanders Fields by John McCrae.

After the Act of Remembrance, we continued our time of worship.
Below are the bible readings for the day, with the sermon.

Bible readings:
Numbers 1:4, 45-54; John 15:9-17

Sermon:
May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen

It was a different world.
It was the age of Empire
and the age of innocence;
a time long-ago and not far from living memory.
It was golden summers on chamomile lawns,
and the dark grime of progress and industry.
A time of prosperity and plenty,
yet a time of unthinkable poverty.
There was hope in the air,
good neighbourliness and kindness,
a twinkle in the nation’s eye.
The knowing sense of being great and powerful.

In that time long-ago, in a far-away land,
another great empire held sway over many countries,
some who chafed at the bit,
who resented being ruled by the Emperor.
The resentment festered,
until, at an opportune time –
all because of a wrong car turn –
a shot rang out,
killing the heir of the Empire, and his wife.
Interlocked within a complex system of alliances,
the Empires and nations moved swiftly.
Five weeks later, Britain was at war –
defending ‘little Belgium’ from the Germans.

Some were already soldiers;
some joined up, eager for adventure;
others joined simply seeking work and a wage.
Patriotism mingled with new songs –
and surely, surely, this would all be over by Christmas?
Why not see a bit of Europe and have a jolly time of it?
Pack up that old kit bag:
smile...
smile...
smile.
And so, from all over Great Britain,
and across the Empire,
they gathered,
were counted,
formed fighting units.
This was war on a scale none had seen:
truly, a world war –
so many nations involved.
A war with a grand purpose:
this would be the ‘war to end all wars.’
Surely, a worthy aim –
something to be proud of, to be able to tell your children –
or, of families sending sons, to be able to have a quiet pride, and tell the neighbours.
In one’s, and two’s
and ten’s and hundreds,
and thousands upon thousands,
off they went to war.

War is a numbers game:
the more people you have at your disposal,
in theory, the more advantage you have.
And this was very much a war of numbers –
a war of attrition,
as both sides began to get bogged down in
the mud, and the blood, and the wire of trench warfare.
And as reality began to set in,
and as men poured out of trenches
in the face of machine guns,
and their life-blood poured out of them,
the counting began again in earnest  –
not just the counting of how many new recruits,
but a darker, grimmer counting:
the sheer human cost of war fought on an industrial scale.
Not one, but four Christmases came and went,
and another was looming,
before that great, terrible conflict came to an end.
Number of deaths: about 10 million fighting,
and around 7 million civilians caught in the middle of it all.
Number of wounded: over 20 million.
If it truly had been an age of innocence before the war,
innocence, along with human lives, had been thoroughly broken.

From the perspective of hindsight and long history,
sometimes it’s easy to wonder at the seeming naivete of those who went to fight.
But, for all who did, in the great and terrible darkness of war –
on land, in the air, or by sea –
in the horror of it were formed bonds of friendship and care.
Of course, some looked out for themselves;
but how many stories have been passed on of acts of enormous courage:
of scrambling through wire and under fire
to bring back wounded comrades?
Of men like Wilfrid Owen –
diligent, to the last, in his duty of care for his men –
determined to get them ‘home’ to safety after seeing action...
losing his life in the final week of the war;
men like Laurence Binyon who wrote the poem containing the stanza
‘They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.’
Not a soldier – too old – and so, he volunteered instead,
in the Red Cross on the Western Front –
putting his life on the line
to help patch up the lives of those on the Front line.
In the darkness of war, still, there was love:
the greater love that Jesus speaks of,
that dares to offer up your life in the service of others.

One hundred years has passed since that ‘war to end all wars’.
It was a grand ideal –
the very thought of no more war.
And yet, counting numbers again:
since then, over 160 million people –
those in the forces, and ordinary men, women, and children –
have died in wars.
Such numbers are incomprehensible.
Perhaps a way of trying to understand is to focus in on individual lives instead –
Kerr, Munro, Owen, Binyon, and others...
to hear their stories, and maybe learn from that more focused viewpoint,
something of the whole?

Over the last several weeks, we’ve looked at the story of Joseph and his family,
and as we’ve done so, we’ve touched on thoughts of reconciliation:
of mending fences,
of healing broken relationships.
Reconciliation and love were at the heart of Jesus’ life and ministry –
it’s the gospel message.
Our text from John sees Jesus once again addressing these themes:
reminding his followers – and us – of the bonds of love:
of God’s love for us –
of that love being the springboard for us to love God, and to love others –
to remain in God’s love.
That is the love the inspires us to small and great acts in the care of others –
it’s even a love that dares us move beyond seeing some as ‘enemies’
and instead, seeing all as made in God’s image:
precious and beloved.
And perhaps, it’s as we look deep into the face of another, even an enemy,
and can see God,
that is when we can put down the guns,
to turn our spears into pruning hooks,
and find a way forward together to that place of peace,
where there is felt no need of war...
to be reconciled to each other,
just as God, in love, through Jesus, was reconciled to us all. Amen.
------------------------------------------

Finally, in line with many other churches throughout the UK,
at 12.30pm our church bells were rung...

Around the parish, other Acts of Remembrance occurred at the Memorials in
Wanlockhead, Leadhills, Crawford, and Crawfordjohn

Sunday 4 November 2018

Sunday sermon - Part 3 Joseph: 'A tale of two families'

Part 3 in our 3 part series on Joseph

READINGS: Luke 15:11-32 Genesis 43:1-5; 45:1-18

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen

It started with a 17 year old dreamer.
A lad who seemed a little too full of himself;
a lad who enjoyed the favour of his father,
but who endured the hatred of his brothers.
Family relationships were tense.
Actually, family relationships were beyond that:
they were broken, fractured.
The selling of their brother Joseph
demonstrated that in a major way.
Joseph’s dream seemed to have become a waking, walking nightmare.

We followed his story – a story that took him to Egypt,
where he served as a slave to Potiphar.
Things initially went well – but life can turn on a knife’s-edge:
a false accusation from Potiphar’s wife, and Joseph was thrown into prison.
Opportunities came his way –
guards and prisoners alike respected him, trusted him.
In the prisons of Pharaoh, Joseph did a lot of growing up.
He also met two men from the Palace who had been having dreams –
dreams feature big in the story of Joseph.
Having interpreted their dreams,
Joseph spends another two years in prison until...
there’s someone else who’s had some dreams.
That’s where we were, last week:
thirteen years after having been sold by his brothers, Joseph finds himself in front of Pharaoh –
a Pharaoh who’s been having dreams...
who needs Joseph, the dreamer, and the interpreter of dreams, to help him.
When we last left Joseph, he had indeed interpreted the dreams,
and having done so, was amply rewarded by Pharaoh –
from languishing in prison,
Joseph was made the most powerful man in Egypt second only to Pharaoh himself.
Tasked with the great responsibility to prepare for famine while still
in the time of plenty, Joseph excelled at his job.
In his personal life, the family he’d lost had been replaced by a family of his making –
a wife and two sons.
His work saw an overflowing of grain in the grainstores –
and when the famine came, so Egypt was more than prepared –
able to feed its population, and, with enough to spare,
so that it could sell to other nations and people living near Egypt.

Just before our reading begins today,
like so many others caught up in the famine,
Jacob has sent his sons off to Egypt to buy grain.
A steady stream of human traffic moves to and from that great land –
the land that holds the promise of food and survival.
Arriving, they go to the distribution centre.
Joseph is there, ever-diligent, overseeing the work.
And then his whole world turns upside down:
he recognises his brothers.
What to do?
In another story, we might expect sudden and violent retribution:
Joseph avenging himself after the mistreatment of his brothers.
‘An eye for an eye,’ and all of that.
Expressing that very human feeling of:
‘you hurt me, so now I’m going to hurt you.’
Except, that doesn’t happen.
Mind, he doesn’t let the off scot-free:
he does test them.
‘You’re spies’ he claims.
They protest their innocence.
And so, to prove they’re telling the truth he asks them to go home and get the
young brother who is still there if they ever want any more grain again –
while leaving one of their number in Egypt as surety.
Laden with grain they head off with heavy hearts –
their father Jacob will never agree to this.
And he doesn’t.
With brother Simeon festering in Egypt,
the family works its way through the whole of the grain supplies.
Only when they’re running low, is the matter of returning to Egypt raised once more.
What to do?
And that’s where we join our story once more.
Hard decisions.

Jacob finally gives in, after much protesting –
sending not only Benjamin, but gifts of honey, fruit, balm –
hoping to find favour from this powerful man in Egypt.
And so, in search of grain, they head off once more to Egypt.
They are taken to see Joseph:
and what awaits them is something entirely unexpected:
Joseph quizzes them about home,
about their father,
and finds himself overwhelmed when he sees young Benjamin.
He leaves for a moment to compose himself, comes back,
and then a great feast is served.
To their astonishment, they realise that they have been seated in order according to age –
how could this Egyptian have known this?
And then they find out.

The truth is told – and Joseph claims his brothers:
the ones who had sold him –
the ones who had planned to kill him.
And, instead of retribution,
he reaches out his hands in reconciliation:
forgiven.
He has seen how they care for young Benjamin,
seen how they can’t bear to cause their father distress;
seen how, not only has he been transformed over these long years,
but so have they:
regrets have haunted them ever since that fateful day thirteen years before.
They have lived with the shadow of what they’ve done ever since –
no peace, but carrying plenty of guilt.
And it’s Joseph who releases them through the power –
not of his position as Pharaoh’s second-in-command –
but through the power of being the one who’s been wronged.
It’s Joseph who can see the light of hope
within what had been a dark, dark place –
for Joseph, God had rescued the situation.
And here, now, was a chance for a new beginning,
an opportunity for healing old wounds,
mending fences,
a chance to be reconciled and restored as a family.
Looking for light in the darkness, Joseph found it,
and so was able to let go of his hurt, his anger, any bitterness...
and in turn, was offering this gift of letting go to his brothers.

With the gift of forgiveness came the gift of a new life –
Pharaoh, genuinely pleased for Joseph,
invites the whole family to come to Egypt to live off the fat of the land –
to be blessed, just as Joseph had been a blessing upon Egypt.
It’s a story of a family who,
having been at loggerheads,
having been jockeying for power,
having been... thoroughly dysfunctional,
are now whole.

We also heard another story about a family earlier –
the well-known story of the prodigal son.
Two stories of two families;
two stories about younger sons –
two sons who had each lost their family:
one through the cruelty of his brothers,
the other, through his own choice –
he was bored, didn’t want to stay on the farm,
wanted to go and explore the world,
and in the doing of it, caused his father to break up the farm:
land and families and inheritance –
always a difficult combination.
Two stories with a twist in the tale, and in the twist,
becoming two stories with happy outcomes:
families restored and made whole once more –
rejoicing;
living off the fat of the land,
or feasting on the fatted calf.
In Joseph’s story, it is he who offers forgiveness;
it is he who stretches out his arms to his family.
In the prodigal’s story, it is the Father’s forgiveness
that enables the son to come home again.

From Genesis to the Gospels, through to Revelation,
God’s story has always been one of offering forgiveness and friendship to humanity;
of letting go of hurt and pain and bitterness –
of being faithful to the promise made with Noah:
that, tempting as it might be at times to smite the whole of humanity,
there would be no more vengeance,
no more destruction and retaliation.
For God is in the business of reconciliation –
of restoring, of making whole,
of healing hurts
and mending the broken...
In both the stories –
of Joseph
and of the prodigal,
we see a loss of love;
a walking away,
that brings near potential destruction.
In the story of God’s relationship with us –
God has never stopped loving,
has never stopped calling us:
to let go the regrets,
to start truly living...
freely, fully, wholly;
to find our home in him.
He offers us welcome, freely given,
he loves us for who we truly are,
he desires us to walk in the knowledge
that as much as we are his...
he is ours.
His is a love that will never let go;
and as we’ve seen in Joseph’s story,
his is a love that finds a way, even in the darkest places;
his is a love that has no conditions placed on it –
no strings attached...
Like Joseph’s family,
like the young prodigal,
all we have to do
is let go of the regrets,
the self-recriminations,
and let God be...
to let God in,
and, in so doing,
to experience the grace of transformation that only God’s love can bring.
For, where there is forgiveness,
there love can be found,
and from there, a new beginning...
for ourselves,
our families,
our neighbours,
and for the world.  Amen.

Friday 2 November 2018

Remembrance Centenary project update

Like many groups around Scotland, Upper Clyde organised a project
to mark the Centenary of war's end, 1918-2018.
A request to knit or crochet poppies has been met with a brilliant response from
all around the parish. Sunday 28th was the final Sunday to get the poppies in,
so that we could begin to make our wee banner for the church.
Given the response, some window decorating will also be done making use of the
remaining poppies, including a window representing others caught up in the conflict,
such as children - who may have lost a father, or both parents, family members,
or even their own lives.

Huge thanks to all who helped in some way, the response has been humbling.
On Wednesday a small team gathered in the hall, and began the task of assembling
the banner. In the pic. below you'll see them mid-banner.
The banner itself is now hanging in the church in the days now leading up to
Remembrance Sunday itself.

Shortly after the service on the 11th, all poppies will be available for a minimum donation of £1, and monies raised will be divided between Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes. Let us know if you'd like
any via the 'Contact us' form on the side bar of the page.

Monday 29 October 2018

Sunday sermon: 'Beloved Underdog' - Joseph series pt2


This morning during our time of worship we welcomed Evalyne May Broxholm into God's family through the sacrament of baptism...


Part 2 in our series on the story of Joseph.


READINGS: Psalm 34:1-10  Genesis 41:37-57

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

The middle of the vast Pacific Ocean.
And in that great expanse of water, a skinny, shipwrecked boy, bobbing in a dinghy.
At the other end, a Bengal tiger.
The boy has lost his entire family –
will he now lose his own life?
Will it be as a meal for his companion –
or dehydration?
After an epic voyage and many adventures the two eventually land on shore,
the tiger retreating into the darkness of a jungle,
the boy, found and cared for by locals.
‘The Life of Pi’ is a brilliant and beautifully told variation of the classic
‘underdog beating all the odds.’
If you haven’t read it, or seen the movie, truly, do yourself a favour.

The underdog story always tends to be a winning formula:
from Rocky, to Pi,
from Star Wars Rebel Alliance, to Slumdog Millionaire,
we like to hear of the most unlikely people pitted against outrageous odds,
who, despite everything that’s thrown at them somehow emerge, triumphant.
But with our friend Joseph, from the Book of Genesis,
we find ourselves on slightly tricky ground:
is he, or isn’t he an underdog?

It doesn’t start off well.
Let’s recap:
Last week, in our introduction to Joseph,
we saw a bratty, spoilt 17 year old boy
who cheerfully ran to his dad and told tales on his brothers;
who was an insensitive show-off –
especially when it came to letting his brothers know just who was the favourite:
parading about in that coat of many colours was a guaranteed way of reminding them
that when it all came down to it, they counted for little.
And then, there were the dreams:
dreams which he tactlessly interpreted –
where he, the youngest, would have power over all of them.
He sees himself less as an underdog and more the top dog.

And so Joseph kept on,
being annoying,
playing games,
and treating his family with contempt –
so much so, that his brothers hated him and could barely bring themselves to speak to him.
The hero of the story was not making such a great first impression.
However, the golden-haired dreamer was about to get his come-uppance.
We left the story last week with the brothers planning to kill him.
In the end, they settle for selling him off to some passing traders.
The traders arrive in Egypt and Joseph is sold
- to live as a slave to Potiphar, captain of Pharaoh’s guard.

The years pass.
Just before our reading earlier, we hear of how well Joseph fares in Potiphar’s house –
everything he’s put in charge of seems to prosper.
He works hard.
He’s good at what he does.
Little by little, he’s given more responsibility –
the more responsibility, the better he gets on.
But disaster strikes:
a false accusation sees him unceremoniously flung in jail, left there to rot.
Even there, in the dankness of prison,
bit by bit, Joseph earns the trust of the jailers –
is given areas of responsibility, does all things well, and is given more to do.
At some point, a couple of folk who work at the Palace are put in jail.
Joseph is tasked to look after them.
And it seems that Joseph’s not the only one in this story who dreams.
Both the Palace workers have troubling dreams.
They confide in Joseph –
he’s earned their trust.
He interprets the dreams:
for one, it will not end well –
for the other, he’ll be restored to his former position at the Palace.
And so it comes to pass.
One is executed, the other is saved.
‘I’ll remember what you’ve done’ says he.
And then, heads back to work, and promptly gets involved in the business
of living once more, and forgets.
Until, one day, Pharaoh begins to have dreams...
which no-one can seem to interpret.
The former prisoner, now Palace worker, suddenly remembers Joseph.

Thirteen years have passed since his brothers sold him.
No longer a boy, Joseph has been learning
the hard lessons of life from the school of hard knocks.
He’s a changed man –
not a spoilt, self-seeking, tactless brat.
He’s strong, he’s learned the art of humility, and diplomacy.
And now, having washed and shaved,
he stands before the most powerful man in the known world...
and tells him what the dreams mean,
and suddenly moves from prisoner
to second most powerful man in the known world
as he’s put in charge of preparing for famine while in the midst of feast.
He’s fortune’s favoured child once more –
how will he handle favour and power this time around?

Quite differently, it seems.
He’s not longer a show-off –
even though he’s got a fancy new chariot to drive around in.
Instead of pointing to himself, he gives glory to God –
'this is what God is doing:
I do this dream stuff, because of God...
any wisdom I have, comes from God.'
He’s no longer self-seeking, looking after number one –
he now uses his power for others to help, and to serve,
and to save the nation from starvation.
He’s so successful at gathering a portion of the good harvests over the years,
that it’s beyond counting.
His diligence will not only save Egypt,
it will save other people who come looking for food.

The Psalmist says:
‘I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears,’
and
‘Taste and see that the Lord is good;
blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.’
There, in Pharaoh’s dungeon, where else could Joseph turn?
Well, I guess, inward, and become bitter.
Instead, something prompted him to look past himself
to look outward,
to seek the Lord.
Having had years to work through his ‘stuff’, to learn to rely on God,
and to give his troubles to God he's ready, he's prepared to take on
even greater responsibility.

Suddenly the story is no longer about a bratty kid, but of an amazing transformation.
Of finding grace in the most unexpected places.
Joseph experiences God’s favour –
and this is seen in his rags to riches rise in Egypt.
From a position of powerlessness, from having absolutely nothing,
he’s give a job;
he’s given a new name;
he’s given new clothes –
no coat of many colours, this time, but fine linen;
he’s given a wife.
During the years of plenty, he has a harvest of his own:
Joseph, the man who had lost his family,
is now given a new family –
he and his wife have two sons.
Their names show how far he’s come:
Manasseh: who helps him forget his past sorrow;
and Ephraim: who is a reminder of the fruit of his labours in Egypt.

While Joseph knows not to put his trust in things,
his new-found situation is a visible reminder of God:
what God has done,
is doing,
will do,
in his life.
He’s wise enough to know how circumstances can change,
and that it’s not about trusting all the things.
His experience has taught him that what doesn’t change is God –
and that’s where he grounds himself:
in God,
in God’s grace.
God, the One who sees the underdog;
the One who is the God of the first,
the second,
the third,
and more chances...
the One who is present in the dungeon,
in despair,
in the darkness,
as much as in the light –
God, ever-faithful.

Earlier, we performed the sacrament of baptism:
with water and words we demonstrated God’s grace –
God’s love,
and God’s power to transform.
Baptism is a sign of God’s promise to
walk alongside a person through thick and thin;
in the good, the bad, the messy, and the joyful stuff that makes up life.
It’s a sign of a promise that, no matter how often we get it wrong,
the God of the many chances
will always be with us,
always call us back,
always desire the best for us,
and for us to be the best, most authentic self we can be –
for we are created in God’s image.
No matter where we’re at,
no matter how high
or how low,
just as God was with Joseph,
so, baptism witnesses to the truth that God is with us:
that Evie,
that all of us,
are God’s beloved –
that’s our new name 'Beloved'.
Beyond all of the things –
that’s where we find our solid ground,
in that belovedness,
and in belonging to God -
and as we do,
like Joseph,
so we, in our turn use what power and privilege we have in our small corner
to love and to help and to be a blessing to others...
because that’s essentially what the Good News of the Gospel is:
You are loved.
You are blessed:
Now, go, and love God, and share the blessing. Amen.

Monday 22 October 2018

Sunday sermon: 'Any dream will do' - Joseph series pt1

A three week series on Joseph...

READINGS: Psalm 30:1-3  Genesis 37:1-11

SERMON
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

‘I closed my eyes, drew back the curtain
To see for certain what I thought I knew.
Far far away, someone was weeping,
But the world was sleeping,
Any dream will do.

Well...how could I not quote words from ‘that’ musical?
For most of this week, various songs from 'Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat'
have been annoyingly floating about in my head.
But this particular song ‘Any dream will do’ makes me wonder:
will just any dream do?
Because the exceptionally weird one about a zombie apocalypse that I had the other night
would be one that I don’t think would do at all...
And I hadn’t even eaten any cheese before bed.

In Genesis chapter 37, we’re told:
‘this is the account of Jacob’,
but almost immediately, Jacob takes a back seat in the story.
While technically it may be about what happened to Jacob –
Jacob, who is Abraham’s grandson,
and Isaac’s son - 
the same Jacob who will become known as ‘Israel’
because his sons will form the 12 tribes which become that nation...
while it might be about Jacob, the spotlight turns straight to Joseph:
And what do we have?

In the very first verse concerning Joseph, we discover several things:
he’s seventeen;
he has brothers;
they’re a farming family – for he’s out tending flocks;
oh, yes, and, he’s a wee clipe.
He comes back to the family tent and tells tales on his brothers.
Not nice.
In the following verse, we learn a little more about this son of Jacob:
while there are many other children,
it’s young Joseph who is the apple of his father’s eye –
a child born to Jacob in his advancing years.
Joseph is singled out for special attention:
alone of all his siblings, he receives a magnificent present,
a richly decorated robe –
or, if you prefer the musical version, the coat of many colours.
'I wore my coat, with golden lining
Bright colours shining, wonderful and new
And in the east, the dawn was breaking
And the world was waking
Any dream will do'

Whatever the coat looks like, one thing’s for certain
as he parades about in it, looking grand:
his brothers all know that no matter what they do, what they achieve in life...
it won’t ever hold a candle to Joseph.
It’s as if they’re just the hired help,
and Joseph’s the shining, golden child.
And they hate him for it.
They hate him so much, that they can barely speak to the lad.
We’ve already seen where sibling jealousy can lead, in the story of Cain and Abel.
And here we have this situation rising up again,
as we look into this clearly dysfunctional family of Jacob’s.

But back to Joseph:
at this early stage in the story, Joseph doesn’t come across well.
Either he’s a wee bit clueless regarding the way his brothers feel;
or, he revels in being the favourite and pretty much rubs their noses in it.
This, more so, when he has his first dream about sheaves of corn bowing to his own –
basically, a dream where he, the youngest, is in a position of power over his older brothers.
I think he’s enjoying both the dream, and the telling of it to them.
They hate him all the more –
this laddie is getting way too big for his britches.

Joseph, the dreamer, then has another dream, another big dream:
not only will his brothers bow down to him,
but so will his father and the rest of the family.
The dream is so outrageous in its ambition, that, favourite though he is,
Joseph is soundly rebuked by his father, Jacob.
Remember, this is a culture in which all authority rests with the father –
the patriarch of the family.
His word is ...law.
He has the power to welcome or banish;
the power to bless or to curse;
the power to arrange who you will or won’t marry.
It is from his hand, that you make your living.
The father is both the dispenser of justice,
and the dispenser of money and goods.
Joseph’s dream is seen as deeply disrespectful:
it overturns tradition,
it’s seen to show ambition and a desire for power.
The dream challenges the perceived natural order of things –
placing power with the one who is the least of all his family
as far as power and succession should go.
This second dream only serves to make his brothers even more jealous –
while Jacob, who loves him, is now...a little wary.
While the musical tells us that:
‘any dream will do’, this set of dreams  will certainly not do,
if his family’s reactions are anything to go on.

We know what happens next:
it’s almost as if Jacob sets Joseph up to be the family sneak –
he sends him out to check up on his brothers who are off working,
and it seems as if, with all this to-ing and fro-ing and checking up,
that Joseph gets off work rather easily.
Yet another reason for his brothers to resent him.
Joseph heads off – a longer trip than he expects,
for his brothers have gone much further afield.
Is it deliberate?
Where they’ve chosen to go appears to be rather handy to regularly used trading routes.
And they’re watching him approach.
A plan is hatched:
time to take this laddie down once and for all.
they’re going to kill him, this ‘dreamer’, just like Cain killed his brother before them.
It’s a drastic plan –
and one of the brothers begins to get cold feet; he can’t do it.
Another plan: chuck him in the well; that way, while he will eventually die,
it will be of thirst and exposure,
and not at the end of their bloodied hands.
Behind the plan, Reuben is looking at coming back to rescue his young brother –
he’s been out of favour with his father and this might just do the job of building a bridge.

Joseph arrives, is thrown down the well, and the brothers promptly...
sit down and have their lunch.
That’s pretty cold and callous.
I’m not sure where Reuben’s got to – but he has gone somewhere.
And while he’s out of the picture,
the brothers spot a handy caravan of travellers and cheerfully sell off young Joseph.
So, they haven’t killed him – but they have made a slave of him.
Reuben comes back and is horrified.
The brothers mess up Joseph’s coat with goat blood and take it to their father.
At the end of this part of the story,
we have a distraught father, so consumed with his grief over one son,
that all his sons and daughters together cannot comfort him...
And, we have Joseph, the son, arriving in Egypt, bought by one of Pharaoh’s officials...
How the favourite has fallen.
As the song goes:
'A crash of drums, a flash of light
My golden coat flew out of sight
The colours faded into darkness
I was left alone.'

We’ve worked out very early on, that the brothers have no love for Joseph –
but what I find interesting about the text
is that they have even less love for his dreams:
it’s the dreams that scare them.
Joseph’s dreams aren’t fanciful wee daydreams:
these are dreams that challenge the accepted way of doing things;
they overturn the given understanding of power.
If his dreams come true, his brothers will lose their allotted place –
won’t receive the honour they feel they are due.
His father will lose status.
To kill Joseph is to kill the dream:
that’s what they’re desperate to do –
to destroy it,
to smash it down at any cost,
even at the cost of their brother’s life.
But Joseph lives,
and because he does, so do his dreams.
As we follow Joseph’s story over the next few weeks,
we’ll see how those dreams turn out.
And, other dreams will be added to the story.
The dreams are important.
They’ll be vital not only for Joseph’s survival, but for the survival of his family,
and, the survival of the nation where he’s just been sent as a slave.

Throughout both the Old and New Testaments are scattered
many stories of people who have dreams.
For the most part, the dreams are big.
They also speak of overturning the expected way of doing things;
of power being given, not to the mightiest, but to the least of these;
they are dreams in which captives are liberated,
where no more poverty, or suffering exist –
for all are accorded equal shares in God’s kingdom.
They are dreams of justice, and mercy, and compassion.
On occasion, there are those desperate to try and crush or silence, or even kill the dream –
but the dream lives on regardless.

Through the power of the Spirit, the stories of those dreams inspire us to dream:
of a better way,
of a better world.
Of a world in which all thrive and where no food bank donations are needed,
because food banks won’t be needed.
Shortly, we’ll be singing a hymn referencing that great, radical social justice dreamer,
Martin Luther King who had a dream that people would be judged
not by the colour of the skin,
but by the content of their character.
That was a dream that cost him his life –
because, for some, that dream was too big,
too hard,
would cost them what they felt was their own place at the table...
a table that was more than big enough for all.
Any dream, but that dream.
Like Joseph’s brothers, they tried to stop the dream, but the dream still lives on.

In the darkest reaches of the night, what are your dreams?
That your family is not just safe, but that it prospers...?
That they are loved and cared for
and as they make their way in the world, that they do well,
and that people are kind to them...?
Or, that same dream for yourself:
that you are loved, cared for,
experience the kindness of others...?
And wider?
That our neighbours and villages are good places to live –
where good neighbourliness exists,
where all treat each other with kindness and respect?
And perhaps, the dream is wider still:
that our world is a good place to live –
where peace prevails,
where the hungry are fed,
the sick are tended,
where all do more than just merely survive, but flourish.

Scratch underneath any civil rights movement, and you’ll find that’s the basis of the dream.
Scratch underneath the words of Jesus,
or the stories of the kingdom in the bible...
and there, you’ll find the dream.
For the flourishing of humanity,
and of creation,
is written on God’s heart,
and sent to us, in dreams,
by the prompting of the Spirit.

Coming back full circle to that song:
‘Any dream will do.’
No. Not just any dream,
but the dream of what our lives could be like,
the dream of what our world could be like,
that’s the dream we’re called to follow, and to bring into being –
for that is the dream of building God’s kingdom of heaven on earth.
And only that dream will do.
Let’s dare to dream and see what God will do -
let’s dream, and let’s dream big.
Amen.

Sunday 21 October 2018


HARVEST PICS: Send in the goats...
Before worship... or 'The Silence of the Goats'
Huge thanks to our 5 schools for their wonderful goat decorations

Meant to get some pic's up from our Harvest Service last week - better late than never?!

Massive thanks to so many who got involved in various ways to help make Harvest such a success:
the children and staff at the 5 schools within the parish, who provided excellent and colourful goats as part of our support for the work of that great charity, 
'Send a Cow', this year.
Thanks to our team of decorators - 
The Harvest Loaf has arrived... and tasted delicious at lunch afterwards
the windows, Vestibule, and through in the Hall, looked beautiful, as did the overall Harvest gift display at the front of the worship space.
Thanks to our Social Committee, who organised a tasty and very welcome Harvest lunch - yum!
And, after worship and lunch, thanks to all the volunteers who stayed behind to help clear away, package up gifts of fresh food for folk, gather all the other food to be taken to Clydesdale Food Bank, and remove the flock of goats...
Thanks for the gifts given for our Harvest display, and the money given for the work of Send a Cow - more money will be coming in, but currently, we've raised enough money equivalent to 3 goats. Great stuff!
Billy and Billy Jr. climbing mountains and
surveying the Harvest gifts
Phalanx of goats admiring some
of our lovely decorated windows
Window display...
Window display...
Window display...