Monday, 30 July 2018

News, contacts, general information 30 July - 16 Aug


The Minister will be unavailable from 
Mon 30 July to Wed 15 August.


Worship will be led by the Rev. Sandy Strachan on Sun 5 and 12 August.
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?


Sun 5 and 12 August, Morning Worship at 10.30am:
We welcome the Rev. Sandy Strachan morning as he leads us in worship.

Further ahead:
Sun 12 Aug. 9am: the Prayer Group meets before worship this week. All are welcome to come along and join in prayer. Should you have any prayer requests, you’ll find pen and paper in the vestibule – note your prayer request and then pop it into the box, also in the vestibule.

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’ 
Beginning from 2 September, we will have a box in which to leave dry/ tinned goods 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

LOOKING AHEAD:
Sun 2 Sept, 10.30am: Communion

Sun 9 Sept SONGS OF PRAISE SERVICE & GUILD DEDICATION
It’s leading up to that time of year once more: time to think about some of your favourite hymns, and nominate them for inclusion for this year’s Songs of Praise Service. Last nominations to be in by the end of morning tea on Sun 2 Sept.  During our service, we’ll also be rededicating our Guild, as they begin their programme for another year.

Poppy Project: Calling all those who can knit or crochet! 
Would you be willing to help make poppies for a large banner, to be used in the parish church on Remembrance Sunday, marking the Centenary of the end of the Great War? If you can help, Nikki and Heather would be delighted to hear from you. Patterns are available.
After the Sunday, we are hoping to dismantle the banner, and sell the poppies for a minimum £1 donation. All money raised to go to Poppy Scotland and Help for Heroes.

Sunday, 29 July 2018

Worship, Sun 29 July: Esther - 'For such a time as this'

We were nothing, if not ambitious in worship this week:
attempting to cover the story of Esther in one snapshot-style service!
To do it, we wove 2 reflections [from the point of view of Esther and Mordecai], and a brief homily through 4 sets of readings from the Book of Esther.
It's one of those books in the Bible that can sometimes get overlooked -
and, also [useful for pub quiz/ trivia evenings] one of only two books not to directly mention God [the other is Song of Songs].

Well done to our valiant reader this morning - not easy passages to get through,
with all of those challenging names!
Our readings from the Book of Esther were:
Esther 1:1-5, 9-12, 15-20;
Esther 2:1-9, 17-18; 3:8-14;
Esther 4:1-8, 12-17;
Esther 7.1–6, 9–10, 9.20–22, 32

The short homily picked up the sense of the challenging and precarious time
in which Esther and the Jewish people living within the Persian Empire found themselves,
and wondered about how to best use power, position, and privilege.
Each age has its own variation on 'such a time as this.'
As God's people, what do we do 'in such a time as this',
as we look back to the example of Esther,
and as we look around us, within our present?
In this, Martin Luther King's challenging words are still prescient:
“Cowardice asks the question is it safe?
Expediency asks is it politic? 
Vanity asks is it popular? 
But conscience asks is it right? 
And there comes a time when we must take a position that is 
neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but because it is right.

The first reflection, based on Esther's point of view, was written by Dee Yates:
ESTHER REMEMBERS ...
It’s a dangerous world out there.
If I had my way, I'd sit still and keep quiet; keep my head down.
I know we Jews have been here for a hundred years or more
but is it safer now than it was when we arrived?
Thanks to cousin Mordecai, my life is a whole lot better than it might have been.
He took me in after my parents died.
I thought that he would want to marry me when I was of age –
he was always
singing my praises to the neighbours – but he didn't.
Unfortunately he had other ideas for me.
Mordecai found out that the king had decided to look for another wife.
He had divorced his beautiful queen, Vashti,
because she'd refused to join him and his guests at a banquet.
Whether she gave any reason for her refusal, I don’t know,
though these occasions can get a bit rowdy when the wine's flowing.
Then Mordecai came home one night and said that the court was asking for beautiful girls
to be given beauty treatment and then presented to the king,
so he could chose one to become his next wife.
He said I should go.
He said I should not reveal that I was a Jew.
If I kept quiet, he said,
if I was chosen by the king, I would be safe.
It doesn't feel safe.
One wrong move and I could be like Queen Vashti - or worse.
Mordecai told me that two of the palace officials were plotting to kill the king.
I reported it to his majesty, giving Mordecai the credit.
That turned out all to the good.
But next, my cousin fell out with Haman, the king's favourite
and Haman, finding out that my cousin was a Jew, decided to wreak revenge
by asking the king to give permission for all the Jews in the kingdom
to be slaughtered for disobeying the laws.
And the king agreed.
Mordecai was horrified - and then said I must go to the king and beg for mercy.
Me! I could have been put to death for speaking out of order.
But it was do or die - and perhaps die anyway.
So I impressed my husband by dressing to kill
- if you see what I mean -
and ordering a lavish banquet two days in a row.
Then, quaking in my shoes and sick to the core, I told him of Haman's plot to murder the Jews.
And the king responded by giving the Jews protection
and hanging Haman on the gallows that the wretch had built for my cousin.
He made Mordecai second in rank to the king himself and held him in high esteem
because 'he spoke up for the welfare of the Jews.'
If I recall the facts aright, it was I that spoke up for the welfare of the Jews, not him.
But no matter.
I'm still here.
And I'm glad that I had the courage to speak up.
What would have happened if I had kept quiet?
It might have changed the whole course of history - and not for the better.
                                                                                                                      ©Dee Yates

‘MORDECAI REFLECTS’
They were powerful.
Strong.
All-conquering.
Their empire was vast and mighty,
their wealth, unfathomable.
They had crushed other nations underfoot.
They had crushed my nation utterly
and taken my family into exile.
Strangers in a strange land,
but eventually, settling,
learning language and custom,
but never forgetting home,
never forgetting the God of their ancestors.
I had known little else but exile.
Every day, face to face with the brilliance
and wonder and power of Babylon,
I accepted my lot,
and knew they would rule forever.
But they didn’t.
The mighty Babylon fell,
crushed under a newer, greater empire:
it was the time of the Persians.
The great Babylon was a mere plaything
compared to their greatness:
their power reached around the known world
and other nations fell before them.
With so much change, how could I not look after wee Esther –
she had no living family but me.
As the years turned, so, she became as a daughter to me:
I vowed to do my best for her.
It's odd, how life can turn in the spin of a shekel.
The old queen had been banished,
the King had been preoccupied with war,
but now, home, he felt the need of a queen once more.
A series of strange events,
a beauty pageant of sorts,
and then, presto, my lovely Esther
moved from obscurity to the Palace.
But we had enemies.
I urged her to be wise,
not draw attention to her heritage,
and use her power for good.
It was me, however, who found trouble,
earning the anger of the King’s advisor, Haman.
Hatred, vanity, and ambition make for a dangerous combination:
pointing my people out,
putting us down,
telling lies about us,
he stirred up seeds of distrust and discord –
better to get rid of us,
than face any potential disaster we might bring.
Tricking the King,
a decree went throughout the whole empire,
calling for the extermination of my people.
But, what of my lovely Esther?
There in the centre of power and conspiracy,
how would she fare?
And would she dare to use the little power
she had, to save us all?
She was brave...
but I just didn’t know...
                                  ©Nik Mac

Sunday, 22 July 2018

Sermon, Sun 22 July 'Sharing our stories, sharing ourselves'


Today we reflected on the power of story, of sharing our stories, of sharing God's story. As we entered the building different coloured tags with the words 'my story' were given out, and in the early part of worship, we thought about the story of our life, and a story from our life. These were gathered up and tied to what became our story tree, placed by the lectern - the many colours representing the diversity of stories, all brought together by a common story: God's story in the world, in our communities, and in our lives.

READINGS:
Ps 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-44

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 was the first time she’d been invited around for dinner.
She’d struck it lucky:
Monday night was roast night, and Deb was quite partial to a decent roast, along with roast tatties.
As they settled at the table to eat, the stories began of how the day had gone for each of them.
Some of the chat got into some pretty blunt speaking about bodily functions and such like.
One particular story had been quite gory indeed – concerning a rugby training injury.
Deb listened, watched, and chewed on her bit of roast beef thoughtfully.
The next day, at school with her friend, she finally blurted out the question that
had been vexing her all through the night:
‘So, do you always talk about bodily functions and blood and guts at dinner?
Her friend looked surprised, then stopped to think.
‘Yeah, actually, I suppose we do: it’s the only time we get to tell our stories, 
so nothing’s off limits. Um, sorry!’
Poor Deb.
But it was a good lesson for her friend with the cast-iron stomach: me.
I learned that day not to tell certain stories if dining out elsewhere.

A little earlier we were talking about stories –
stories that made up the story of our life;
about Jesus, as the great story teller;
about the followers of Jesus, passing on the stories that made up the story of his life –
a life and stories which in turn, gave us insights into God’s great story –
told from since before Creation came into being.
Stories shared from the dawn of time right down to our present.
And it’s interesting to me, that within the collection of stories gathered together
which make up our Bible, so many are, in some way, food-related.
Last week, a gruesome birthday dinner at King Herod’s palace –
which my friend Deb would definitely have struggled with;
and this week, a much happier event –
an unexpected picnic with Jesus, the disciples, and at least 5 000 others...
although I suspect that there were probably more:
our story of the feeding of the 5 000 only counts the men –
women and children weren’t qualified to testify as witnesses in law,
so weren’t deemed worthy of counting!
I’ll not go into a small feminist rant at this point, I promise!

As we’ve seen in the Gospel of Mark,
the crowds just keep gathering around Jesus.
At the beginning of this particular story,
he, along with the disciples, are heading off to a quiet place to get a little rest.
The disciples are not long back from their mission –
to go, two by two, and share the news of Jesus in the surrounding area.
Having shared their stories with Jesus, of what had happened,
it’s time to stop a wee while, recharge batteries, and generally chill out.
It’s a great plan.
Off they go to what’s described as ‘a solitary place.’
However, they don’t go unnoticed.
Soon, the solitary place is more like party-zone central:
the crowds have literally hot-footed it there, to see Jesus –
almost in the same way some folk flock to see their favourite movie or rock star.

Although he’s tired, as he arrives and sees the gathering crowd,
Jesus doesn’t get hot and bothered,
he has compassion on them –
he sees just how lost they are,
just how desperate they are for meaning in their lives;
they’re searching, looking for something,
wanting a life that...matters;
wanting someone to show them how to make sense of the story that is their life;
they seek a shepherd –
and Jesus, as the Good Shepherd, greets them as they come,
and then settles them down,
and begins to teach them
instead of having the rest he and his disciples had been planning.

Now, there’s a reason that solitary places are often just that, solitary –
they tend to be in out of the way, off the beaten track areas.
This unusually crowded solitary place was in a remote area, and time was moving on.
No handy burger van at the ready,
no phone for a Domino’s pizza available,
and the disciples are getting edgy:
what to do?
This bunch of assorted people,
each with their own particular story,
each with their own particular reason for chasing after Jesus,
well, these people are going to get hungry.
Surely it’s time to send them away?
But we know that this is not how the story goes.

Jesus is very much into welcome and hospitality:
remember, his first miracle was turning water into wine.
He will not see these ‘sheep’, these lost ones, sent away hungry
whether in a spiritual or physical manner.
Even without the benefit of joined up shops, or a trusty Marks and Sparks,
this is a problem that can be fixed.
In fact, this particular problem may be a great example of that age-old saying:
‘A problem shared, is a problem halved.’
The people aren’t sent away.
The disciples are told:
‘You give them something to eat – what have you got?’
They dig out their Star Wars themed lunch boxes – or equivalent...
Some bread, some fish.
Perhaps they look at it a little wistfully as they show it to Jesus,
who blesses the food, and then they start to share it out.
But it doesn’t run out.
And as we know, at the end of this story, there’ll be plenty of left-overs as well.

Whether some mysterious thing happens,
or whether the selfless sharing of the disciples’ own food inspires everyone
to pull out their own lunch boxes and pool resources isn’t the point:
there are other things at play here.
Jesus, the ‘bread of life’ nourishes both body and soul –
and, through this miracle, reminds us of another story,
the feeding of the Israelites as they wandered in the Wilderness.
Jesus actively demonstrates that God will indeed supply all needs.
And another thing:
Jesus feeds them, no questions asked;
he doesn’t require any doctrinal hoops to be jumped through,
doesn’t ask them to show proof of their holiness.
They don’t have to do anything to earn their place at this great picnic.
He simply meets their need.
He feeds them, and in doing so, they become, in that moment, companions.
The word ‘companion’ comes from the Latin:
‘com’ meaning ‘with, and ‘panis’ meaning ‘bread’...
So, a ‘companion’ is someone with whom you share your bread.
And that’s what happens to this group gathered in a remote place:
in the breaking of bread, in the sharing of food, and of their stories, they become companions.

Time and time again, Jesus will eat with a variety of people –
and often be told that they are ‘the wrong kind of people’ –
poor, outcast, unclean, dodgy folk.
Widows, orphans, tax collectors, foreigners, radicals.
A diversity of people, yet with one thing in  common: hunger –
physical, yes, but deeper than that –
a soul-hunger that only Jesus can satisfy.
Each time he eats with them, he makes the statement:
‘these are my people, the people I share my stories and my bread with – my companions.’ 
Each of his companions has their own particular story of how they landed up
sharing a meal with Jesus.
Each will share a story about a particular need that drew them to him.
Each will go away satisfied, having eaten bread with the Bread of Life
and found themselves nourished way beyond their expectations.
Each will share their story – often over bread,
so that the stories and the great story
will be passed down,
will be spread,
and the feeding will feed imaginations,
and hearts, and souls,
and bodies and minds.

‘All who feast on the Bread of Life are family. 
All who dare to feed the hungry, 
fellowship with the suffering, 
and befriend sinners are companions of Christ. 
This, after all, is the Kingdom: 
a bunch of outcasts and oddballs 
gathered together, not because we are rich or worthy or good, 
but because we are hungry, because we long for more. 
And just as the fish and the loaves continued to multiply, so have the companions of Jesus. 
The family just keeps growing and growing.  
So whoever you are in this ongoing story...if you are hungry, come and eat. 
You don't have to earn a spot. It is given. 
The baskets are overflowing and there’s always room for more.’[*Rachel Held Evans]  
And when you’ve eaten, go share:
your story, God’s story,
and don’t forget to share the bread.
Amen.

Sunday, 8 July 2018

Sermon, Sun 8 July: 'Unlikely prophets'

READINGS: Ezekiel 2:1-10; Mark 6:1-13

SERMON ‘Unlikely prophets’
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.

These days the job market can be a rather tricky thing both for prospective employees, and employers: those wanting to fill a position with just the right person.
Just as there’s an art to putting together a CV, so there’s also an art in putting together an ad:
both the CV and the ad are designed to not only give information, but to create some kind of impression.

Recently I came across some job adverts and ... well, yes, they did make quite an impression!
Have a listen and see what you think about these places of work:
‘Surgeon wanted: for a new health clinic opening in the area.
No experience needed.
Must have own tools.’

Just a quick check: who fancies registering with that particular health clinic?
I’m not sure which is more worrying:
the ‘no experience needed,’
or the ‘must have own tools.’
On the other hand, if you’ve always fancied having a go at being a surgeon
but never really had the time to train – well, there’s a golden opportunity going!

How about this one – would you work here?
‘Precision Tune Auto Care: 
‘We stand in front of our brakes:
help wanted.’
...No?

What about this one – it’s a little longer, but, it doesn’t skimp on detail:
‘Sales advisor:
my clients are a massive bunch of indecisive idiots 
who like to think of themselves as being better than they actually are.
They are now looking for like-minded idiots to join them.
You will be arrogant and have a high level of self-importance,
along with a real desire to rip customers off to make lots of money.
You will be responsible for selling to customers things they don’t need at grossly inflated prices.
Salary on offer is £18-22 000, although at interview, my client will tell you 
that you can achieve manager status in 2-3 years with a salary of £35 000 plus.
However, this is rubbish.
They will interview you and make it sound that they’re keen on you,
then arrange a second interview at which you’ll think you’ve done really well,
however, your feedback will be: ‘not for us’,
which will be really helpful to you in understanding why you didn’t get the job.
If the above sounds like it could be for you, apply today.’
Sound appealing?
A real ad, and the shocking thing is that 8 people actually applied!

These job ads came to mind as I read our passage from Ezekiel, which we heard earlier.
God is calling Ezekiel to be his man –
to apply for the vacant job of prophet.
And here’s the sales pitch:
‘I’m sending you to a rebellious nation;
right from the get-go, they’ve always rebelled,
never listened;
they are obstinate and stubborn;
they may fail to listen;
They’re probably going to get angry
and not only say horrible things,
they might actually physically hurt you;
it’ll be like being surrounded 
by briars and thorns,
like living among scorpions;
oh, did I say they’d be mean to you
and that they’re rebellious...?
Oh yes, yes I did.
Anyway, don’t be afraid.
Go speak my words;
don’t rebel like them,
oh, and while you’re at it, here: 
eat this scroll filled with words of woe and lament – it’ll taste like honey, I promise.’

Now, there’s a tantalising job offer:
go and speak to a bunch of folk who truly are revolting – in more ways than one.
It’s a seemingly thankless, difficult task, destined for failure.
And yet, regardless of success or failure,
the job is to go and speak God’s kingdom words – and trust God to know what he’s doing.
A few weeks back we heard Jesus talking about seeds being scattered by a gardener:
the job was to go scatter the seeds –
and then trust God to be about the business of dealing with the actual growth of the seeds.
Crack on, do God’s will.
And, despite the very challenging job conditions, that’s exactly what Ezekiel does:
he accepts the job offer, and speaks God’s word in soil that appears to be less than fertile:
and yet, it should be fertile ground,
after all, these are God’s own people.

Like a mirror, our gospel passage this morning reflects, in part, a similar story.
We have Jesus returning home for a visit among his own people.
Up to this point in the gospel of Mark, it’s been all go.
We start with Jesus being baptised,
and move quickly into the beginning of his ministry.
He gathers around him disciples – wanting to learn from him.
He rapidly gains quite the reputation:
crowds flock to him – wherever he is, so too, are they.
He drives out evil spirits,
heals the sick,
can command the elements themselves – calming a storm at sea.
Very soon into his ministry he has alienated the religious establishment
who look for ways of killing him.
He is dynamic:
a force to be reckoned with;
a power for good –
a power for God.
‘Messiah’ is being mentioned in some quarters,
as people hear his words and see his deeds:
as they watch love in action,
and the seeds of the kingdom of heaven grow and flourish.
Jesus is on the crest of a great wave as he turns home.

When he gets there, he does what he usually does when he arrives at a place:
on the Sabbath, he goes to the synagogue and begins to teach.
The home-town crowd go wild:
how awesome and amazing is this local boy done good?
They’re filled with admiration and clamour for more, so receptive are they...
A great party happens and they carry him on their shoulders through the streets
cheering and celebrating his success:
a success which puts all of them in a good light –
after all, the success of one is the success of all.

Except...
we know that this is not what happens.
Quite the opposite:
he teaches, yes.
They are amazed, yes.
But the amazement is more from disbelief –
‘Hang on, they’re fine words, but, who do you think you are, sonny Jim, 
to take a place of honour?’
‘He’s just the carpenter – he’s nothing special.’
And then the sly comments about the circumstances of his birth:
less a case of ‘we kent yer faither’
and more a case of maybe they don’t.
So rather than say ‘isn’t he Joseph’s son?’
they say ‘isn’t he...Mary’s?’
In a culture based on shame and honour, there’s a particular pecking order:
to give honour to this humble carpenter would displace someone else.
They’re not prepared to upset the apple-cart:
they’re not prepared to entertain the idea
that someone as seemingly ordinary as Jesus –
or even, that someone with a slight taint, like Jesus –
could possibly make good.*
In their minds, someone like him making good somehow shows the rest of them up.
So, instead of honouring him, they attempt to put him back in his box –
he’s become too big for his britches:
he’s the most unlikely of prophets.
He speaks God’s word,
scatters the seeds of the kingdom,
and appears to have the most meagre response
on this seemingly unfertile soil.
Everywhere else, the ever-present crowd
is desperate for Jesus to help, or heal, or restore them, 
but not here, not the home-crowd,*
not...Jesus’ own people.

After tremendous success, here, in this story, the writer records what looks like a failure.
It’s an interesting turning point, and his own followers, the disciples, are watching.
Which is why it’s interesting that, immediately after this difficult homecoming,
we see Jesus calling the twelve disciples closest to him to go out, two by two,
and to scatter the seeds of the kingdom.
They’ve seen his great successes,
his miracles,
experienced for themselves his rescue from the storm.
It’s almost as if they also needed to see that, at times,
the work of the kingdom can be plain hard slog, without much sign of outward success:
the hard homecoming has been just as instructive as all of the miracles.
Go out, do it: share God’s word –
scatter the seed,
be God’s love in the world, in action.
But they don’t go alone:
they have a companion on the journey –
to share the burden and to share the joys.

They are ordinary people –
fishermen and tax collectors –
and these ordinary people go off on this journey with little provision,
and yet, with everything they need.
They come back, amazed at God,
amazed at what has occurred as they’ve stepped out in faith,
and possibly, even, a little amazed at themselves:
God can use ordinary folk like...them.

I’ve occasionally mentioned church signs – often in relation to sermon titles.
Often they can also have some very cheesy slogans or posters with dire puns.
At one point, it was quite the thing to post on church sign boards a mock up
of an advert for a job:
‘Wanted:
Carpenter seeks joiners.’
That carpenter, Jesus, a seemingly ordinary man, yet, extraordinary too,
calls us to be about the kingdom’s business.
Calls us, ordinary, yet extraordinary folk:
to say ‘yes’ to the job of being God’s people.
To say ‘yes’ to the job of being God’s love in action in the world.
To say ‘yes’ to the job of being unlikely prophets.
To say ‘yes’ to the job even though, at times, it won’t necessarily be all smooth sailing...

We, like Ezekiel, like Abraham, like Sarah, like Mary,
like so many down the ages, are called to faithful obedience:
we might not see ‘success’ in the way the world would have us try to define it;
we might not see ‘success’ in our lifetime;
Nevertheless, wherever we are, we crack on with the business of embodying God’s love.
Actions matter:
‘God has chosen us in baptism, not only for salvation, 
but also for purposeful, consequential lives here and now...
Each day, we have a choice between resisting God’s activity
or partnering with God’s intent and action – to bless and care for God’s world.
...Our acts of kindness are holy,
and our moments of unkindness or indifference are tragic.
What we do matters and...God equips us to be his agents of grace,’ *
ordinary people, yet, made extraordinary –
for we are his,
and together, as his people, and with him,
miracles can happen,
seeds can grow,
hard ground can be revitalised.
God puts out the job advert and calls each one of us to apply:
with our different gifts, and personalities, and skills.
‘A timid believer pauses to listen to the Voice;
A struggling church hears the Voice and turns;
and still the Voice beckons today. . .
can you hear?
As we seek to listen to God’s voice, ever calling,
so may our prayer be:
Here I am. Send me.’**

Let’s pray:
Loving God, our creator, our sustainer,
the one who is the ground of our being
and at the same time is the one who holds
the universe in your hand:
Give us hearts that will sing your praise
in the highs and the lows.
Give us minds that will put some effort
into thinking about how to follow you with honesty.
Give us hands that will work to succeed
and move on from failure.
As your people,
as Christ’s body:
help us to worship you,
help us to live the Christian life,
help us to be followers of Christ...
with every fibre of our being –
heart, mind, body and soul –
In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

*David Lose, 'Working Preacher'
**Roots

Sunday, 1 July 2018

Sermon, Sunday 1 July: 'The jewel in the crown'

READINGS: Lamentations 3:17-33; Mark 5.21-43

This morning, a little bit of drama to help explore themes arising from our readings, particularly Mark. There was a whimsical piece of wondering, as seen, through the eyes of a funeral director who runs into an unexpected glitch, followed later by two reflections from the point of view of Jairus, and the woman in the crowd. After the readings and reflections, we stayed seated to sing 'We cannot measure how you heal', using it as a form of prayer. Thereafter, the sermon...
After worship this morning, we held our Annual Stated Meeting and approved the accounts.

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.

Lament.
There is a long, strong, and very powerful tradition of lament within scripture:
to lament, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is to make
‘a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.'
Alternatively, a lament is:
'A song, piece of music, or poem expressing grief or sorrow.'
Or, a lament can be a complaint.
This last, well, the children of Israel, having won their freedom from Egypt,
spend quite a considerable time lamenting their fate as they wander in the desert;
the Psalms – the song book of the Bible –
has songs of rejoicing and praise,
but also a goodly share of lament and sorrow;
and, dotted throughout the Bible we find many stories, many situations
in which there are powerful expressions of grief and sorrow –
we even have a book of Lament,
in which are gathered up poems and songs of unassailable despair and sadness.

This book is written around the time of the Babylonian Empire –
and Israel has been utterly crushed under the heel of Babylon.
So much loss:
there has been exile of quite a substantial number of the population –
we have the Psalm ‘By the rivers of Babylon’
expressing the sadness of not being able to sing the Lord’s song in a strange land [Boney M song!];
the temple in Jerusalem has been destroyed;
the city, left ravaged and pillaged and ruined;
no one to lead those left behind;
no sense of hope –
no sense of rising from the ashes.
Out of this experience comes the Book of Lamentations –
a profound expression of grief and sorrow.
Traditionally, its author was reckoned to be the prophet Jeremiah:
called to preach God’s message to the remnant left behind.
It was no easy task:
he was unpopular – so much so, that his life was threatened:
at one point, he was tossed down a well by the people.
And still, he proclaimed the word of the Lord:
he knew about suffering,
he had cause to lament,
and he also knew about hope –
and of God’s unfailing goodness.
No matter how dire,
yet, God was with him,
as God was with the people... even if it might not have felt like it.

Oddly, for a book with such seemingly depressing subject matter,
the Book of Lamentations is one of my favourite books in the Bible –
because right there in the very middle of it,
sitting between laments,
there’s the passage we heard earlier from Chapter Three,
and those words from verses 21 through to 26:
Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore... I... have... hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
    to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
    for the salvation of the Lord.

There, in the bleakest of bleak places...
there it is, the shining jewel in the crown of this book: 
hope.
A calling to mind of God’s great love;
of God’s faithfulness –
hope in him, says Jeremiah –
or, whoever it was that wrote it.
Hope in him –
he is with you,
he will get you through:
you will not be consumed.

Lament.
Our older lady in the gospel passage had cause to lament.
12 years of ill health and all that came with it:
her illness meant not only pain and discomfort,
it meant social exclusion –
she was seen as ritually ‘unclean’
if anyone touched her,
or she them,
they, too, would be ‘unclean’ by association.
She was ill, isolated, impure:
A bleak and seemingly hopeless life situation.
Are there any last straws to clutch at,
or, should she just turn her face to the wall?

Lament.
Jairus, for all his wealth,
for all of his social and religious standing,
also knew the painful song of lament rather too well.
He loved his wee daughter –
at 12, she is on the traditional cusp of adulthood,
and he watches, as the future is being taken from her before his eyes.
All the promise of laughter and life;
of potential...and of building new stories,
creating new memories as the years roll by, is fading fast.
If there’s any straw to clutch at,
no matter how unlikely,
or seemingly unorthodox,
or, possibly scandalous,
well, Jairus will grab it if he can with both hands.

Lament.
The crowds are ever-present.
A sea of need,
of pain,
of desperation...
so many wanting their own particular straw to take away:
to see healing,
or new life,
or a new way of being,
or a once-proud nation rise again.
And there, right in the very middle of it all:
as a desperate woman breaks with religious proscriptions,
as a desperate father races to find help,
as so many gather...
there he is...
the shining jewel in God’s crown –
the beacon of God’s love,
the beacon of light in the darkness,
the beacon of hope
who is the Word of life –
in flesh and in blood
showing God’s great love,
demonstrating in word and in action
God’s faithfulness –
hope is found in him.
And, on that day, a woman goes home rejoicing;
and a father witnesses the unthinkable,
and the kingdom of heaven continues its quiet work of transformation.

Lament.
We, all of us, go through our own seasons of rejoicing and sorrow;
times of abundance and loss;
times where we look back to times past and think of what we had,
and struggle to find a way forward –
because we know there may be change,
and we are ever creatures of habit.
Sometimes, we find ourselves looking for straws to clutch at:
crumbs of comfort.
Sometimes, we’re tired of clutching at straws that feel well worn.
We lament.
And as we do,
and as he always does...
there in the midst,
there... he... is
Jesus, the jewel in the crown,
the One who walked among us;
the One who, through the Spirit, is still with us;
the One who hears our songs of lament;
the One who feels the fear and the pain;
the One who turns hopelessness into hope,
for he is the One who will get us through:
the One who will make sure that we will not be consumed ...
the One who asks us to follow him out into a broken world to share that hope;
who invites us to move from mourning, into dancing...
and who calls us his friends – this day, and every day. Amen.