Worship Sun 8 Jan: 'Saying a holy "yes"'

WELCOME once again to our time of worship. The baby of these last two weeks has now become a man, poised on the edge of the River Jordan, at the beginning of his ministry... preparing himself to say a holy 'yes' to God.
Our WORSHIP LINK IS HERE.

Church notices are copied below for reference...
NOTICES/  
Guild: the annual Guild afternoon tea will be held on Wed 11th Jan at 2pm, in the Abington Community Hub. Anyone is welcome to attend, you don't have to be a member of the Guild! If you'd like to come along, please let either Mary Hamilton or Heather Watt know, for catering purposes.

Bereavement support group: will be meeting on Thurs 12th Jan at 1.30pm, in the Abington Community Hub. All are welcome - if you, or someone you know would find this helpful, do come along, and pass this on to others. 

Annual leave: the minister will be on annual leave from Mon 9th Jan and back after lunch on Wed 18th. Arrangements are as follows: 

Worship -
Onsite, worship will be provided by the Rev Bill Buchan, with Shenna Fox accompanying on the organ. Online, you might like to explore the following: 
Biggar Parish Church - LINK 
Dunfermline Abbey - LINK            
Kirkton Parish Church - LINK        
Parishes of Upper Tweed - LINK 
Pastoral cover... Urgent pastoral care will be covered by the Rev Mike Fucella of Biggar Kirk - 01899 229291. 
General queries... please contact Dee Yates, our Session Clerk on 01864 504093 

Worship Sun 12 Jan: 'Beloved'

This morning, we thought about baptism, belonging, and what it is to be beloved as we heard the story of Jesus' baptism.

READINGS Isaiah 42:1-9; Matt 3:13-17

The descriptions given of John the Baptist in the bible, show a man who is ...
different.
Single-minded.
Focused.
Austere.
When the song ‘Dedicated follower of fashion’ was written, it was not with John in mind –
John wore basic garments – a tunic made of camel skin, held in place by a leather belt.
His was not the Michelin 5-star diet:
he lived on locusts and wild honey.
He was not the light and fluffy type:
he spoke of purifying fires and repentance.
A strange man, and yet many were curious:
this wild man of the desert somehow caught the imagination of folk, stirred them up,
so much so, that they left their places of comfort and travelled out into the wilderness
to hear him, to see him, and some, to even take the plunge and be baptised by him.
I wonder how he seemed to some of those standing by, watching...
and how he seems to us, living in the 21stC?

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 want to tell you all a story...
It was the 1930’s and times were hard –
harder still if you stood out from the crowd in any way and...young Mary Ann did.
She’d been born with a cleft palate before restorative surgery was an option,
and she was also deaf in one ear.
She couldn’t blow up a balloon without holding her nose,
and she struggled to drink from a water fountain.
At school, although she tried to keep her head down,
although she did her best not to stand out, or be singled out in any way,
nevertheless, her classmates would pick on her, zooming in on her vulnerable points,
clearly, she wasn’t going to amount to much.
They did their best to make her feel smaller, worthless, unlovable.
Time and time again, students would point to her mouth and ask:
‘Oh Mary Ann, what happened to your lip?’
Having been born with this, there was nothing she could do about changing it –
and the constant pointing out and teasing took its toll.
Not wanting to say that she’d been born this way,
not wanting to admit that she was different,
not seen as ‘normal’,
Mary Ann would sometimes tell a story –
‘Oh, I fell and cut it on some glass.'
School was something to get through,
a matter of endurance, and less a case of enjoyment.

The relentless teasing was hard enough,
but there was another endurance test that Mary Ann had to get through every year:
the annual hearing test.
Every year, each child was tested.
One by one, they were called to the teacher’s desk.
Each child would then be asked to cover first one ear, and then the other.
As an ear was covered, the teacher would whisper something to the child, like:
‘The sky is blue’;
‘You have new shoes’;
‘Apples grow on trees’;
‘Where is your pencil?’
The test was known as the ‘whisper test’.
If the child could hear the phrase and repeat it back, they would pass the test.

Not wanting to stand out,
not wanting to be teased for failing,
not wanting to feel worthless,
Mary Ann had found a small way of cheating –
instead of flattening her hand over her good ear,
she cupped it, so that she could still hear what the teacher had said.
But then came the year when Mary Ann found herself in Miss Leonard’s class.
Miss Leonard was a favourite teacher –
all the children thought she was wonderful,
all the children wanted to be in her class,
and all the children who were fortunate enough
to be in Miss Leonard’s class were desperate to be noticed by her,
wanted to be her ‘pet’.
And yet, even though Miss Leonard was lovely,
Mary Ann could not escape from the annual nightmare of the ‘whisper test’ –
her least favourite day at school.
And so the dreaded day came.
One by one, students were called to the desk.
One by one, phrases were whispered,
repeated, and the student, having done the test,
would march back to their desk.
Finally it was Mary Ann’s turn.
With dread in her stomach, she walked to the desk and hoped that she wouldn’t fail.
Cupping her hand over her good ear, she waited for the words ...
But this time, they were not ordinary words –
they were not words talking about
the colour of the sky,
or new shoes, or apples,
or finding a lost pencil –
for Mary Ann the seven words that Miss Leonard whispered that day changed her life.
Leaning as far forward as she could, to get as close as possible,
Miss Leonard whispered:
‘I wish you were my little girl.’

In just seven words, Miss Leonard had shown Mary Ann
that she was not worthless,
that she was not invisible,
that she didn’t have to make herself small –
Miss Leonard, through her words, gave Mary Ann the great gift of knowing
that she was worthy of love –
and that she was wanted and beloved.
The words transformed the way that Mary Ann looked at herself, and, the world around her.
With the power of encouragement, Mary Ann would grow up and become a journalist.
She was a reporter for a small town paper, she also wrote a weekly column
commenting on the every day happenings within the life of her community.
She had a long and happy marriage, had 4 children, 2 grandchildren,
and lived to see 2 great-grandchildren.
Mary Ann’s story is a story of how knowing you’re loved can transform your life...
and it’s also a story of how, each one of us can be a catalyst for change to others –
by offering even the smallest encouragement to someone...
letting them know they’re beloved, wanted, that they matter.

Just over two weeks ago now, we celebrated the birth of God’s beloved Son, Jesus –
Jesus, who, in his teaching,
in the way he interacted with people,
in the way he lived his life...
showed us what God would look like with skin on;
showed us how to live as one beloved by God.
We find that, in our reading, thirty years have passed –
and from the beginning of his life, we see Jesus at another beginning point:
the beginning of his ministry...
and it begins by the banks of the River Jordan as he stands among the many
who had come to see John in the wilderness and to take up his offer of baptism –
a baptism of repentance,
an act demonstrating a turning around and facing God
and commitment to walk in God’s ways.
And John, who has been encouraging the people to come for baptism, sees Jesus and says:
‘No, I can’t do this – you should be baptising me.’
John seems to see a lack of worthiness within himself to do this task...
Three years later, Peter will have a similar reaction when Jesus washes the disciples feet.
But is there more to baptism than John thinks?

Well, yes, yes there is.
While baptism is indeed about turning towards God – repentance –
and a new beginning, a fresh start...
it’s also about belonging.
In Jesus’ baptism, we hear God’s encouragement,
God’s affirmation of Jesus in those powerful words that boom from heaven,
that echo across the shimmering water of the Jordan:
‘this is my Son, the Beloved, 
with whom I am well pleased.’
This is God, through the Spirit, offering words of belonging –
‘this is my Son...’;
belonging based upon love –
‘my beloved’;
belonging not based upon deeds but upon relationship –
Jesus is at the beginning point of his ministry and even before he’s done a thing,
God shows the delight he has for this One – this Son – who is beloved:
God is pleased, so very pleased.

Baptism is about belonging – a sign and symbol of identity.
As those who follow in Christ’s footsteps,
we dip our toes, our selves, into the waters of baptism
and, as the Apostle Paul says, in that act, we clothe ourselves in Christ.
In baptism, our own belonging to God is demonstrated –
even though many of us may not remember our baptism...
In baptism, the words of God ripple across the water, and are given to each one of us:
as Jesus is God’s Son,
so too, each one of us is a child of God;
as Jesus is beloved,
so too, each one of us is beloved of God;
as Jesus delights and pleases God,
so too, each one of us is pleasing to God –
God delights in us...
And, as Jesus is named, affirmed, and is shown to belong to God
even before he has begun the work that he has been called to,
so too, with us –
it’s not about how many points we can score,
it’s not an exercise in keeping a record of good deeds versus the bad...
we’d never measure up in that kind of system.
In baptism, we have a new beginning,
and are simply known, named, and loved by God for the very fact of being who we are –
because that is what grace is:
love that is given freely and fully,
without any conditions placed upon it;
love that is the soil in which we can blossom and grow
and learn what it is to live fully –
and, perhaps even learn to get our heads around being so utterly loved,
even when at times we don’t think we’re particularly loveable.
Baptism is the visible demonstration of God’s love:
God first calls Jesus ‘beloved’
and extends that belovedness, that belonging, to us.

Sometimes, we can have a view of God that sees him as One who stands over us
with a big stick, ready to knock us down when we step out of line:
a fierce, stern punishing God.
In the story of Jesus’ baptism, however, we find the loving heart of One
who doesn’t beat us down,
but who lifts us up,
takes pleasure in us...
loves us for who we are –
even when we mess things up,
and who continues to call to us,
to encourage us, with words of love...
How much would our journey Godwards be transformed if we saw in God’s face
just how much we belong to him
and just how much we are loved?
We are God’s sons and daughters.
We are Beloved.
And God delights in, and is well pleased with us.

Beloved. 
Fact. 
Not ‘will become’. 
Not ‘will grow into.’ 
Not ‘has potential.’ 
But simply: beloved. 
Now. 
God calls us beloved, 
just as God called Jesus beloved. 
Whoever we are, 
whatever we do, 
wherever we go, 
God will find a way to assure us 
that we are beloved. 
We might as well get used to the idea 
and consider ourselves 
and those around us 
beloved of God 
What a way to live:
 a way to love, 
a way to grow, 
beloved of God.*
Amen.

*from 'Spill the Beans'

Sun worship Nov 3: Welcome and water, worship and wonder, and even 'wow'

This morning we welcomed wee Gregor into God's family through
the Sacrament of Baptism.

We also did a little 'upside-down Aussie' magic - with thanks to Jake for being a most excellent volunteer ...
thinking about faith and trust, and using a glass of water, we wondered if there might be a way to keep from having an accidental extra baptism if we turned the 3/4 full glass of water upside down over Jake's head...
The Minister was rather relieved that her practice at home had paid off, although it was handy that Jake had his waterproofs and hood on 'just in case'.
Many gratifying 'oooohs' from the congregation when the trick worked.


Our readings this morning were from Ps 33 and Revelation 4:1-11, picking up the theme of God's worthiness to be praised.

We thought about the glimpse of heaven offered through the open door of John's vision, how impossible it was to describe the impossible, and, with a wee nod to the Wizard of Oz, reflected on Dorothy's comment that 'there's no place like [our heavenly home]', of God's faithfulness, of those who've gone before us in the faith, and of our own faith journey leading us to that open door where we are welcomed in...

A busy, full, and fun service, and a big 'thank you' to the many small helpers throughout!

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.

Sermon, Sunday: 3 Advent 'Rejoice'

In our worship this morning, we welcomed Nairn Murray Drife
into God's family through the sacrament of baptism...

And we reflected on joy, seen in Mary's great song of joy, 'the Magnificat'

READINGS Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; 1 Thess 5:16-24; Luke 1:47-55

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 is a time of danger.
Fear is growing throughout the land.
A tyrant from long ago is regaining strength and power.
The darkness... is growing.
9 friends – new and old – have set out on a perilous quest.
It is a strange company:
while there are battle-hardened warriors,
there are several small and rather unlikely companions.
It is with one of these little ones, that the great burden of the quest lies most heavily.
He is the chosen one:
on him, the quest either succeeds... or fails.
They have travelled many miles,
braved many dangers,
lost a beloved member of their group.
Finding sanctuary in an ancient wood, they meet with others –
allies who help them.

Unable to sleep one evening,
the small one who has been chosen walks through the wood,
following the queen of that land, until they find a glade.
He wonders if he is up to the task –
he’s only one small person caught up in a great series of events beyond his understanding.
He’s afraid.
The great queen bends down, and with kindness says:
‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’

And just as a matter of interest:
does anyone know what story I’m referring to, and which characters??

‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’
In the Lord of the Rings, the powers that be tend not to notice folk like Frodo – Hobbits.
They are a little people, who tend not to get caught up in the great affairs of the world.
They live in what some might think of as a quiet backwater, just getting on with their lives,
while all around them, the big important people get on with doing
whatever it is that big important people do.
But, in this particular story, the ability not to be particularly noticed
is the very thing that saves the day:
from a humble people comes one who will indeed change the world
and overcome the evil that threatens to destroy it.

‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’
Galadriel’s words to Frodo, could almost be the song of joy that Mary sings.
We don’t know much about Mary:
she’s young,
female...
already in that time and place that’s two strikes against her:
she’s also from Nazareth, in Galilee –
a backwater of no real significance.
She might as well be invisible:
a woman of no importance.
Except, she ends up being extremely important.
She is given a great task –
one that will potentially change the course of the future.
She is chosen –
not to bear a ring of power and save the world, like Frodo –
but chosen to bear the longed-for Messiah who will save her people...
and who will save the world.
The great Creator of the heavens and the earth has noticed this humble,
relatively invisible, young woman.
Her reaction:
joy.
The God who sees all has seen even Mary –
just as in the desert so many centuries before, God saw Hagar when no-one else did.
Mary rejoices,
and as she does, she calls to mind what her God has done down through the centuries,
calls to mind what kind of God she worships:
she sings a great song of joyful praise –
a song that becomes a great hymn of liberation,
a song describing the values of God’s kingdom.
This is a God who not only sees the ones nobody else does,
this is a God who raises them up
and calls them his own;
this is a God whose kingdom is built upon mercy, justice, love:
where the ones who are hungry are filled with good things,
and where the old, corrupt regimes based on
greed, division, derision, despair and darkness
are thrown down.
Mary’s song is a manifesto for serious change –
and if we really pay attention to it, and subscribe to it,
what changes might we, with God’s help,
bring about in our communities,
and in our world?

‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’
Frodo did in The Lord of the Rings;
Mary did, by agreeing to God’s plan;
one small baby did, who was born in a stable 2 000 years ago...
even we can change the course of the future, in our small corner of the world.
Advent is the waiting, watching, and preparing time:
preparing to remember once more the birth of Jesus,
the son of Mary,
Mary, who wove a song of liberation around him
as she rejoiced in God’s vision for how the world could be.
Let’s join the liberation, and work towards God’s kingdom:
where even the smallest person –
even as small as wee Nairn –
is noticed, loved, and valued...
and let’s sing the songs of God’s freedom to the world, this day, and every day. Amen.

Sermon, Sunday: 2 Advent -'Preparation'

In what was a busy morning, on this 2nd Sunday of Advent, we welcomed Jenson Hodge into God's family through the sacrament of baptism.
So, a shorter reflection this morning, on our readings for today.

1st READING Isaiah 40:1-11
2nd READING Mark 1:1-8

REFLECTION
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.

Christmas is coming.
Are you ready?
Are you coping?!
Are you sticking your fingers in your ears and just going ‘la la la!’?
An American friend of mine has a particular seasonal game that’s become
a bit of a tradition for her and some other pals.
It centres around a certain Christmas song:
‘The Little Drummer Boy’ or, ‘LBD’ for short.
You know the song  - ‘pa rump pa pum pum’and all that jazz?
Basically, the person who manages to get the closest to Christmas without hearing
that song, wins the game. Apparently, there’ve been a few near-misses,
but she’s still in the game so far.
I’m not sure what the winner gets, but I suspect it’s not a copy of the song.
Given the slightly different cultural thing, I’m pretty sure, however, that if the song was
‘So here it is, this is Christmas, everybody’s having fun’ –
we’d probably all have lost weeks ago.
Anyway, the game is a part of her preparations for Christmas –
a wee ritual, to get her tuned in to the time of year.
For what it’s worth, mine is watching and waiting for signs of the first
Christmas tree to go up – how early will it be?
One year, in Edinburgh, I did see a tree up in September.
I was traumatised for weeks!

In our different ways, we’re all in the process of making preparations as we look
ahead to Christmas – even if some of us may actually be in denial that it’s almost here:
in my mind, I’m still somewhere in September...
The season of Advent is a time of preparing –
and we see that picked up in our readings this morning.
As with last week, we heard from the prophet Isaiah a little earlier.
The nation of Israel has been utterly defeated by the mighty power of the Babylonian Empire.
Many of the people have been sent into exile and captivity...
and we see that, after years of being strangers living in a strange land,
the time of captivity is coming to an end:
Isaiah tells them that God has heard their cries,
‘Comfort my people’ says God...
Basically, they’re going home:
and not the long way, but the straightest way –
paths will be made in the wilderness –
all the obstacles stopping them from getting home will be removed,
God will lead them like a shepherd out of the darkness,
out of their sadness and distress.
God will put the hope of home in their hearts, and they will be at peace.
All this, because God loves them:
it’s a bit like God’s singing to them the words of that old song:
‘Ain’t no mountain high enough to keep me away from you.’
That mountain's going to be levelled if it's in the way.
‘Good news,’ says Isaiah –
‘God’s preparing a way ahead for you.’
Now, they have hope.
Soon, they may have peace after years of living with uncertainty.
And so, they prepare to make the journey of their lives –
journeying home,
and journeying to, and with, God.

Centuries later, we hear the voice of another prophet –
the voice of John the Baptist:
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness;
the voice of one preparing the way for a longed-for Messiah...
a rescuer of the people who are oppressed by another great Empire – Rome.
And we hear not only John’s voice, but echoes of Isaiah:
‘prepare, make straight paths.’
And John, as God’s messenger, finds that here, the preparation involves baptism:
he spends his time at the River Jordan baptising folk –
symbolically washing away any obstacles;
symbolically washing away all the stuff that’s gone before in someone’s life.
Baptism: starting new, starting fresh;
helping to make the path as straight as possible
to help folk toward a new beginning,
a new journey...
journeying within,
journeying with others – a community of the baptised,
and then, journeying out to share the good news
that God is involved,
that God loves,
that there is hope.

Still, more centuries later, here we are:
preparing in our different ways to celebrate that hope fulfilled,
God’s love expressed in Jesus, Prince of Peace who, when grown,
called fisherman by the seashore,
and who still calls people wherever they are,
to join him on a journey of a lifetime –
for he is the One who straightens the paths,
who welcomes everyone, no exceptions,
and who is, as our next hymn describes:
‘joy of heaven, to earth come down.’

Christmas is coming.
Are you coping?!
Are you sticking your fingers in your ears and just going ‘la la la!’?
Or, are you preparing for the journey?
Amen.

Sunday worship 18 Dec: 'bingo', shepherds, baptism, and carols

A busy and fun Sunday! Here's a wee round-up:

Morning worship:
At our rather packed all-age, informal morning service we told the Christmas story
by playing a game of 'Christmas Bingo'.  We heard a reading from Matthew's Gospel that was
not unlike an episode of 'Who do you think you are', and discovered some surprising people
in the midst of the long list of names in Jesus' family tree.  In our other reading we
heard of angels visiting shepherds in Luke 2:8-20, and later, had an imagined reflection
from one of the shepherds about that night. He was rather surprised that angels would
trouble to visit folk such as him, given his own people looked down on the likes of shepherds;
maybe God's love was for everyone, not just those who thought they were 'respectable.'
We also had great fun welcoming young Innes into God's family through the sacrament of
baptism. And, we unfurled the last of our lovely Advent/Christmas banners, so beautifully made
by our craft group.

Community Carol singing, with Junction 13
From 1.30 - 5.15, folk from our community choir, 'Junction 13', managed to carol their way
around 5 of our 9 villages in the parish:
Abington, Crawfordjohn, Crawford, Leadhills, and Wanlockhead.
Huge thanks to our singers, for their tireless efforts - and particular thanks to the Foleys for organising us re. music and a spot of supper before evening worship.
Thanks, too, for the hospitality provided by Abington Store, Colebrooke Arms, and Hopetoun Arms and their much-welcome mince pies, choc. Yule log, lots of tea/coffee - which kept us all keeping on.
We managed to raise c.£160 for Cancer Research. Thanks for the kind donations! :)

and... evening worship: our Carol Service in Scotland's highest village
We finished the day with our annual Carol Service, in Scotland's highest village, Wanlockhead,
followed by some fab home baking. Thanks, as ever, to our friends from Leadhills Silver Band
[from Scotland's second highest village!] and to the fabulous Mary Hamilton, for providing the
music. And thanks too, to: Teresa Brasier, who put the service together, and to all the readers.
Below is a snippet of our final carol for the evening - apol's for the wobbly camera work on the
small Android phone!

Sermon, Easter Sunday, March 27

Easter Sunday came in with a blast of sleet and hail
through the hills and valleys, and with three Sunday services:
The 8am 'early bird' service at Crawford suddenly became an indoor event,
looking out to the Clyde and hills from the warmth of the manse lounge-room.
After a short time of worship, an Easter breakfast of bacon rolls and tea was cheerfully consumed (with thanks to Aileen for her fab organising!).

As 10.30am approached, the parish church in Abington was filling up fast, with standing room only by the end.
We had the delight of an Easter baptism, and welcomed Orla Isabella Josie Leyden
into God's family represented here at the Upper Clyde.
To the call: 'Christ is risen, Alleluia!',
we joyfully responded: 'He is risen indeed, Alleluia!'
And our first hymn was the cue to release our buried Alleluias
from the first Sunday of Lent - this year, 8 helium balloons each 
with a letter from 'Alleluia' magically rose from the pulpit, 
while the paper-tear crosses we'd made all those weeks back
were suddenly suspended via fishing line from pulpit to lectern... 
all this, while daffodils were being used to decorate the Cross. 
It was great to see so many folk of all ages turn out for our busy and fun service,
and during the last hymn, Easter eggs were given out to everyone - not
sure how many eggs made it back home.  
The sermon for the service is further below.

Evening worship, at 6.30, was held in Leadhills, during which, we shared in
a simple act of communion together. We also test-drove a digital hymnal, as
our organist for the evening was unwell. Smaller members were very generous
and open-hearted, sharing Easter eggs with the rest of us after worship.

Easter 2016 at UCPC: a busy, happy, joy-filled day. 
Christ is risen, Alleluia!
He is risen indeed, Alleluia!

The sermon preached at 10.30:

READINGS Isaiah 65:17-25, John 20:1-18

‘For I am about to create new heavens 
and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered 
or come to mind but be glad, and rejoice forever in what I am creating.’
Words from the prophet Isaiah - 
and over 500 hundred years later, 
in the early-dawn of not-yet light, 
a new thing   has taken place.
Mary comes to the tomb where the body of Jesus 
has so recently been laid and sees that the tomb has been disturbed:
the stone has been rolled away –
alarmed, puzzled, not knowing what to think,
she rushes off to tell the disciples.
In the early-dawn of not-yet light,
a new thing has taken place:
in the movement of a stone from a tomb,
the very foundations of heaven and earth 
tremble, tremble, tremble...
the former things are coming to an end –
except, Mary, and the disciples who come running to see,
don’t understand this yet...

Someone I know once decided to try to summarise Easter in five words.
He came up with: ‘the disciples were utterly gobsmacked.’
We get a sense of this, in our gospel passage this morning,
with all the to-ing and fro-ing, 
and running from house to garden tomb and back again.
Confusion reigns supreme:
who’s taken the body?
why would anyone do that?
There’s a feeling of conspiracy in the air –
‘they’ have taken the body...
presumably the authorities?
But the big question...?
Where is Jesus: where have they put him?

‘The disciples were utterly gobsmacked.’
They’d been with Jesus for three years.
They’d seen what Jesus could do,
heard his many stories,
travelled the dusty roads with their friend, and rabbi.
He’d challenged them –
through his teachings; 
through his habit of spending time with people decent folk 
wouldn’t - shouldn’t be seen dead with;
through his attitude to the religious authorities...
And lately, he’d challenged the disciples with his single-minded 
determination to journey to Jerusalem:
they’d had misgivings about that particular idea.
Even he had said, as he wept:
‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets 
and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather 
your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, 
and you were not willing.’
Nothing good could come of this plan of his to travel to Jerusalem.

And yet, they dared to hope that something good might just come of it.
The noise and smell and excitement of the crowd
as Jesus rode into Jerusalem was astonishing:
coats and palm branches were being waved, 
or made into a pathway – it was all heady stuff,
a good start – perhaps the start of new things:
a new kingdom free of Roman tyranny – 
God’s kingdom brought in,
in that very act of riding a donkey into the city...
A new heaven, 
a new earth
brought in with songs of ‘Hosanna!’

‘The disciples were utterly gobsmacked,’
perhaps even more so, when things turned nasty so very quickly.
Turning tables in the Temple
turned the tables on Jesus;
turned the crowds into a mob...
Challenging authorities in their own places of power
brought the full weight of their power crashing down on him,
brought betrayal,
brought arrest, and death,
brought a place of rest in a borrowed tomb.
And perhaps, as the stone rolled into place,
blocking out the sun,
and shutting in the Son of God,
perhaps...those who had ears to really hear,
might have heard those words of Isaiah, 
whispering promise,
whispering the prophecy:
‘For I am about to create new heavens 
and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered 
or come to mind but be glad, and rejoice forever in what I am creating.’

Perhaps, if the disciples had picked up the whispers of the ancient promise, 
they may not have been quite so gobsmacked...
But, for them, death was the end.
The final destination.
Nobody comes back from the dead... do they?
And yet:
In the early-dawn of not-yet light,
in a garden where a stone had rolled away from a tomb...
a new thing had taken place:
the powers and principalities had thought they’d laid his ghost to rest;
the disciples were crushed by his death,
and sat in an upper room in hiding, in despair.
Where would they go?
What would they do?
Go back to their old lives?
The nets? The tax collecting?
And Mary’s rushed entry,
her confusion,
her news of his missing body
had created new fear in their midst:
what was going on?
What new thing was this?
And so it transpired:
she was right – the two who had gone to see, came back:
the grave was empty indeed.
As they pondered this turn of events,
Mary, back again in the garden, 
was talking to one she supposed was the gardener...
and then the mist of grief and confusion cleared:
and she saw him for who he was.
And you could almost hear the ancient prophecy
wrap itself around the scene:
‘For I am about to create new heavens 
and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered 
or come to mind but be glad, and rejoice forever in what I am creating.’
...Be glad
...Be glad and rejoice forever...
...Be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating...

And what is being created 
is a new heaven
a new earth...
even now –
even though the news brings darkness and despair,
and tries to bring in a kingdom of fear and hatred and suspicion.
Even now –
as the powers that be try to crush the most vulnerable in society
and try to bring in a kingdom of ‘might is right’
or even, ‘white is right’, whilst sowing seeds of division
among people who have more in common than that which differs.
Even now – especially now:
for what is being created is a new Jerusalem:
not of baying crowds,
not of bloody violence
nor political machinations...
the kingdom of heaven on earth is brought in
by the One who set the heavens and the earth a-tremble
when the stone rolled away from the tomb
on that first Easter morning.
The kingdom of heaven on earth is brought in
when the followers of that One continue the work of Him 
who taught us what it is to live:
who taught us how to live:
to roll away the stones that blight the lives of others –
to be bringers of justice and mercy;
to be bringers of compassion and kindness;
to be bringers of love in the loveless places
and to be bringers of light in the darkest places –
For we   need    not    fear:
we follow the Lord of the dance –
the One who defeated death and showed us life:
we hear the whispered words of the ancient prophet
and see the empty garden tomb...
and we can be glad, and rejoice:
for we know the kingdom that he is creating,
the kingdom which we are called to help build:
a kingdom where there shall be no more weeping nor cries of distress;
a kingdom where all shall live full and rich lives;
a kingdom where all shall have enough – more than enough;
and where there shall be no more war,
for it will be a kingdom of peace,
where all shall rejoice and be glad:
where all shall love God and love their neighbour...
... for that is the power and promise of resurrection:
death and destruction don’t have the final word,
for we are an Easter people, 
and ‘alleluia!’ is our song...

Earlier, I talked of questions, of confusion, 
and the big question racing around in the minds 
of Mary and the disciples:
Where is Jesus: where have they put him?
Jesus is risen – they haven’t put him anywhere, 
although they, the authorities, thought they had.
Jesus is risen – 
and his resurrection is simply...
gobsmacking. 
It was to the early disciples.
It still is. ...

We may not have seen the risen Jesus in the garden, like Mary,
but... we have seen the Lord –
in acts of kindness, of giving of self, of warm generous love;
we have seen the Lord every time we have seen the helpers emerge 
out of nowhere in times of crisis, 
bringing comfort, bandaging wounds, 
holding the hands of the dying, 
or grasping the hands of the ones in boats, 
fleeing from war and persecution.
We have seen the Lord.
And because we have, we are to be those who help
to bring restoration, restitution, resurrection.

Last week, as we walked through the story 
of the Jesus’ last hours, I sang – and some of you joined in – 
most of the verses of ‘Were you there when they crucified my Lord’
Most...of the verses.
But not the last.
It goes:
Where you there when he rose up from the grave?
Where you there when he rose up from the grave?
Oh-oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Where you there when he rose up from the grave?

Let’s sing it everyone... ...

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed, Alleluia!  Amen.

Sermon, Sunday 28 June: 'A new name: beloved of God'

During worship on Sunday, 
we were delighted to welcome        
wee Eve into God's family 
through the sacrament of baptism.
Our gospel reading was potentially a tricky text, but in the end,
we discovered that each of us, 
no matter how small - 
and no matter how small 
or invisible we may feel -
is known and named as God's own...

1^st READING: Ps 30

2^nd READING: Mark 5:21-43

SERMON ‘A new name: beloved of God’

Let’s pray:

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts, 

be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen...

Have you ever found yourself singing along to a song - 

perhaps a song you’ve known for years and years and years - 

and suddenly realised that what you’ve been singing has been completely wrong? 

Misheard and mis-sung lyrics can be wonderful things.

Apparently, waaay back in the day, the line in Jimi Hendrix’s song ‘Purple Haze’: 

‘’scuse me, while I kiss the sky’ 

was so regularly misheard and mis-sung 

as ‘’scuse me, while I kiss this guy’ 

that even Hendrix himself decided to perform it that way.

For years, along with many others, I was convinced that the hymn 

‘Gladly the cross I’d bear’ was less a song of service and discipleship, 

and more about a poor bear with the unusual name of ‘Gladly’;

and I often felt a little twinge of sadness,

thinking about poor Gladly being cross-eyed -

would it impede his ability to climb trees

or forage for food in the woods?

I sincerely hoped not.

And then there’s the classic misunderstanding

around God’s name being ‘Harold’...

this from a mishearing of the Lord’s Prayer:

‘Our Father, who art in heaven,...

Harold be thy name’

There’s a special name for this kind of

mishearing and mistaken utterance:

and it comes from a 17^th century Scottish ballad

‘The Bonnie Earl o’ Moray’ - which goes like this:

Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,

Oh, where hae ye been?

They hae slain the Earl o' Moray,

And laid him on the green

Except, that this was misheard by the writer

Sylvia Wright when a child, as "And Lady Mondegreen.”

Apparently for years she wondered about poor Lady Mondegreen,

and her tragic death - and yet was somehow strangely comforted 

that the bonnie earl and the lady could console each other as they lay dying. 

As an adult, trying to put a name to the phenomenon of 

misheard lyrics and poems, Wright remembered 

poor, tragic Lady Mondegreen, and so, a new term was coined: mondegreen.

So the next time you mishear and misuse a lyric,

remember Lady Mondegreen.

Names are important.

And contrary to the old schoolyard jingle:

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but

names will never hurt me.’

being called names can be very hurtful indeed.

But what happens when you’re not even given a name...?

When you’re seemingly so insignificant

in society that you might as well be invisible...anonymous?

Our gospel reading this morning is a tale of two stories:

two stories, with two women:

one, very much at that culture’s ritual entry point for womanhood -  a 12 yr old;

the other, an older woman - we don’t know how old,

but  someone who’s undergone much suffering over 12 years.

One, seen within her context of belonging: she is ‘Jairus’ daughter’...

the other, seemingly completely disconnected: no one’s daughter, mother, sister.

Both women are unnamed;

and both are women who, in different ways, 

are living in the borderlands,

living on the edge,

on the boundaries of society.

The younger woman, quite physically:

as she wavers between the boundaries of life and death;

the older woman, ritually: due to her illness -

thought of as impure, ‘unclean’, a social outcast,

who would, should she touch another in her community,

cause them to become ritually unclean -

cause them to be cut off from society until certain 

ceremonies could take place to purify them

and bring them back inside the circle.

In this tale of two stories, of two women, 

we see oddly parallel lives, for all that their lives are vastly different.

Let’s look at the younger woman.

Presumably, as the daughter of Jairus -

well-connected, one of the leaders of the synagogue,

she has had a sheltered life,

a life of privilege,

a life where she’s lacked for nothing.

And yet, without her father, she would be, virtually nothing.

And into her seemingly comfortable life comes illness.

She’s near death.

And what of the older woman?

There are no discernible connections at all here -

she’s had a life of suffering

a life of pain

a life now lived in poverty,

after years of fruitless medical opinions have left her bankrupt.

She has no-one to turn to.

And, given her medical condition,

she doesn’t even have the comfort of being able to go to the synagogue.

She is invisible.

She might as well be dead.

And, at this particular point in time,

the lives of these two unnamed women intersect -  

and the common touching-point is Jesus.

Jesus has been travelling around the area of the Galilee. 

He’s been in and out of boatsas he’s crossed over the sea,

and in our text this morning,

he’s just back from a trip to theregion of the Gerasenes.

Immediately upon getting out of the boat,

he’s swamped by a large crowd,

all eager to see this celebritypreacher and teacher.

And into the midst of the crowd comes Jairus -

a leader of the local synagogue...

and what’s interesting here is that,

the religious leadership has already begun to distrust Jesus,

to plot against him, to call him names -

to try to diminish and undermine him.

And yet, here’s Jairus.

Going against the prevailing mood of his colleagues,

out of love for his daughter,

he’s prepared not only to be seen in public with Jesus,

but to fall on his knees -

to humble himself before Jesus and beg for his help.

As Jesus and Jairus move off to tend to the girl -

with the crowd coming along to presumably see the ‘show’,

there’s an interruption:

the older woman, invisible, outcast,

has crept into the midst of the crowd

and manages to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment -

perhaps even just that small act might make her well...

and then, she can melt back into the crowd,

unnoticed, and invisible.

But that’s not what happens.

Even with all the throng of folk around him,

Jesus somehow knows that something has happened.

He turns around ...

asks who touched him...

waits until someone confesses...

And she knows that she’s not as invisible as she thought she was.

The whole crowd is watching,

suddenly acutely aware of her existence.

Like Jairus before her, she too, falls at Jesus’ feet.

And while she may have been given many

other names over the 12 long years of her suffering:

‘outcast’

‘unclean’

‘impure’

here, in the midst of the crowd that she should not be in,

here, kneeling before Jesus, she’s given a new name:

‘daughter’.

She has been seen,

she is known,

and she is named as God’s own -

brought into the circle from the borderlands of exclusion...

understands for the first time in many years

the wideness of God’s mercy.

She’s restored,

she belongs,

and she’s sent off with a blessing of peace.

And what of the other daughter - the daughter of Jairus?

Seemingly, the delay has cost Jairus dearly -

messengers come and say that all is now lost.

Or is it?

Jesus and Jairus head to the house - but note:

the crowd are told not to come -

only Jesus’ closest disciples are allowed to follow 

and see what happens next.

This is not a circus, but a circle of sadness,

and the family of Jairus need cared for, not gawped at.

Moving up to the room, Jesus takes the girl by the hand,

calls to her to get up...      

and she does.

When others in the house have given up on her,

Jesus hasn’t.

She, too, is seen

is known,

is called and named.

Not only is she Jairus’ daughter,

she is God’s own.

Two women,

two parallel stories.

Women who are initially not really seen as particularly important,

but who in the upside-down kingdom of God,

are seen as God’s own,

created in God’s image,

known and named -

and in that naming,

raised into God’s marvellous light,

claimed as God’s beloved.

Names are important -

names can break people down or build people up.

How do we see one another?

How do we name those around us?

‘Scrounger’

‘Immigrant’

‘Abomination’

Do we use names that body-shame

or names that exclude on grounds of 

race, or gender, or orientation, or intellectual ability, 

or a myriad of other things...?

Do we seek to see the person in front of us

as created in God’s image?

As someone known and named by God?

And how do we see ourselves?

For perhaps it’s only when we’re able to accept -

or begin to accept - 

that we are God’s beloved,

that we can move beyond naming others

in ways that are destructive, or divisive?

Each one of us is created in God’s image,

is known and named ...

In Christ, we are all given a new name.

Just as Eve, through her baptism this morning

has been joined into the community of the faithful,

and is known and named by God as his beloved daughter,

each one of us is also known and named by God:

named as beloved child

...daughter, son.

‘In Baptism we are named as children of God

and promised that no matter what happens,

no matter where we may go in life,

no matter what we may do or have done to us,

yet God always sees a unique and beloved individual 

worthy of love, honor, and respect.’

[David Lose]

As God’s beloved, then,

as those who are known and named and loved,

let us go out from here today,

and see our friends, our families,

our neighbours, our fellow human beings for who they are:

people created in God’s image,

people who matter,

people who are not invisible,

but who are known and named and loved by God,

and in so doing,

let us do the work of building God’s kingdom,

where the smallest and the least,

the overlooked and the insignificant

are truly precious,

are all God’s children,

and are all beloved.

And in his name, may it be so.

Amen.