As an author on preaching, a tutor on preaching, and a preacher – I am increasingly convinced that people hate to be preached at.  However, like a musician’s notes or a poet’s words – story can find its way into the heart and change our minds.  When this posts, at about 11am, I shall be retelling an old story and trusting that God will make it new.

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Promises, promises, promises. Their lives had been lived on promises since the day when he had made them up sticks & leave their home. They had carried them like survival rations strapped to their bodies. The only trouble was they had run out of water to dilute them & now they were like dry dust – with no flavour & nothing to satisfy. The promises lingered now only like the faded clothes she wore or the ugly folds of skin that flapped about her neck. 

Long since the promise of children had come and gone.In the end she’d made him go with Hagar – a vulgar girl; and now she hated all three of them for it. The girl was gone – banished to the desert. But the hurt remained like a sun-baked blister. 

The sun was up now – high, high in the sky.He’d gone outside “for peace & quiet” he’d said – but she knew it wasn’t that way. Outside, even in the hottest sun, gave him some shade from her. Its so hard to share a disappointment agreeably. In the end its like hugging a thorn bush between you – it digs in and scratches, but you daren’t pull it way because the thorns are buried deep and it would only hurt more to remove it.

Hearing a shuffle of feet she snatched a glimpse out through the door of the tent and was greeted with the sight of her husband prostrate before three strangers. Years ago she would have smiled, but not now. Did he not know what a fool he looked? Had God not mocked them enough without Abram abasing himself like a common servant?  Must he do this with every visitor, just in case this was ‘the one’ as he insisted on calling it?  After kneading a little dough she turned away as servants were sent scurrying and a meal was prepared.  Maybe she should have done it all herself. Maybe her younger self would have done.  But not now, not now.

She sunk her face into the blackness of her thoughts & turned away.  She was still turned when she heard her name mentioned by one of the strangers.  His voice was clear and commanding, as Abram’s had been so many years ago. Edging closer to the flap she heard him say ‘this time next year Sarah will have a son”. Despite it all, she had to smile.  Had Abram infected these strangers with his madness, she wondered?  Had they picked up on his tale when her back was turned? 

She suddenly had a picture of a very different scene outside the tent.  There was music playing and she and Abram were dancing like bright young things The fire threw their whirling shadows across the sand and the baby was sleeping in the folds of a rug beside them.  What nonsense! These days she could hardly walk, let alone dance. There would be no need for musicians with all the creaks her aching joints would provide.

Despite herself, she had to smile – maybe she’d not forgotten how to laugh after all.  ‘Why did she laugh’ the stranger asked.  Instantly the fire, the music, the sleeping baby was gone and she was back in the harsh reality of the present.She felt embarrassed, ashamed, and somehow naked before this stranger even with the tent walls between them.“I did not laugh” she said –but both knew it was not true.

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Even after many failings, and some false starts – God brought back his ancient promise…

When Jesuit Priest Jacob Paul Camboue was sent to Madagascar on missionary work, he cannot possibly have realised that his legacy would be on display years later  in the Victoria & Albert museum.  Camboue’s passing interest in zoology led him to design a machine for ‘milking’ golden orb spiders of their silk. He believed that this could these tiny threads could one day be spun into threads, and that maybe those threads could be spun into cloth.

Over a century later textile designer Simon Peers and entrepreneur Nicholas Godley took up the challenge. Over a period of four years 70 volunteers collected 1 million spiders, whose silk went into weaving the spectacular garment which you see below.

Image: newscientist.com

Stunningly beautiful though it is, you have to ask yourself whether all the man hours and effort was worth it? Or do you? Does beauty need an ‘excuse’, or does it provide its own justification? Given the incredible strength of spider’s silk, scientists are hoping that the lessons learnt by Godley and Peers will find their way off the catwalk and into medicine, engineering and other branches of research. An austere wartime poster may have harrumphed ‘is your journey really necessary’, but I’m not sure you can ask the same question about beauty.

Even if they don’t though – won’t it have been worth it? Sometimes an act of extravagant beauty is a celebration of our best humanity. When Mary ‘wasted’ a priceless jar of perfume on Jesus, he not only commended her act of love, but insisted that it would always be told as part of the Gospel – as indeed it has been.

What do you think..and would you wear it?

Yesterday I paid a visit to the Olympic 2012 Park in London. It really is an astonishing place. Everywhere you look, from the soaring peculiarity of Anish Kapoor’s ‘Orbit‘ sculpture to the sweeping elegance of the aquatic centre, there is evidence of brilliant design. Even before the arrival of 14,000 athletes, 20,000 journalists and over 200,000 daily vistors, there is a spectacle about the place. The view below was taken from a hotel overlooking the park where every room has been booked for the past seven years in anticipation of the Olympic Games.

Left to right: aquatic centre, The Orbit, stadium & water polo centre

The sums of money involved are stupendous, and measured in the billions rather than thousands. Once you start to think about them it is hard not to dwell on all the other things that £9 billion could buy. The shopping list for water and sanitation needs, affordable medicines and education alone would stretch many times around the Park.

How do you place a value on the  flicker of inspiration which the Olympics sends around the world though, I wonder?

Today the Vatican published Pope Benedict XVI’s message for world communications day 2012. In it he underlines the importance of silence in the face of  the ‘surcharge of stimuli and data that we receive’.  Silence in digital communications sphere, like white space on a printed page, allows us to appreciate more fully what is there.  Who could argue with his call for Christians to ‘become heralds of hope and salvation, witnesses of that love which promotes human dignity and builds justice & peace’ ?

For those who are maxed out on their data feeds and drowning in a soup of news and opinion these words could not have come at a better time. However, we must also guard against a reflection which turns to pianism.  Turning off the data tap in order to serve the world better when it flows again is one thing. Turning it off simply for the sake of a quiet life is quite another – and definitely not what the Pope is calling for.

On the same day as the Pope’s address, Tearfund showed me their latest video – the caterpillar effect.  Sometimes the butterfly must emerge from the cosiness of its cocoon, flap its wings and make some noise:

Last night I was preaching on the topic of prayer from 2 Thessalonians 1 v. 11- 12. Almost without exception the people sitting before me were experienced Christians for whom the words ‘I’ll pray for you’ come as readily as breathing. That said, prayer is one of those things where familiarity can breed contempt and we lose our sense of wonder about it. At this point, enter Aaron Sorkin.

Sometimes video clips can be a lazy way for the preacher to make their material interesting. On others, though, they can burst the bubble of familiarity and bring all sorts of ramifications rushing out. In the clip below Harriet, a famous Hollywood actress, is trying to teach Danny, an influential Hollywood executive producer, to pray. Danny’s new fiancée is dying, her newborn baby is  in danger and a colleague’s brother has been kidnapped. You might like to invest 131 seconds in watching the video, and then think about the questions below…

• Does Danny indeed make some ‘reasonable points’?
• Is his reluctance to humble himself a familiar problem with prayer?
• Could you show this to a friend who does not share your beliefs, and then have a discussion about prayer?

Yesterday I had the enormous privilege of speaking at the diamond wedding celebration of two very dear friends. I was asked to provide an ‘epilogue’ between dessert and coffee, having previously spoken at their ruby and golden celebrations. As often on such occasions, the preacher is torn between brevity and depth, novelty and dignity. In the end, despite the specific instructions to all guests not to bring gifts of any kind, I enlisted the help of a local jeweller and presented them with the diamond below.

The eagle-eyed amongst you will have spotted that it is, in fact, a small lump of coal. However, as I explained – that could change. Heated up to three times the heat the hottest domestic oven, subjected to twenty times the pressure of an average car tyre and left that way for a couple of billion years – it could turn into a diamond. Beautiful things – like diamonds, stalactites, and great sweeping oak trees – take time and testing to grow. ‘Beloved’ writes the apostle John, ‘let us love one another, for love comes from God’.  Love, inspired by the God of the ages, is a diamond which takes many years, and many tribulations, to grow.

In conclusion I stole a phrase from a wedding sermon preached by John Chrysostom nearly sixteen centuries ago – ‘marriage is like a little church’ . I have always taken this to mean not that it is plagued by rotas and full of ambiguity – but rather that it is a small kingdom where Christ rules. Sixty years on, I think my friends have proved that it can be so.

One of the great things about cruising through the news online, and especially via the medium of Twitter, is that it throws up altogether unexpected juxtapositions. Today I encountered the touching wisdom of a 12-year old, and the bizarre ‘learning’ of an academic side by side.

In Today’s Telegraph, 12-year old Charlie Williams reflects on his experience of living through cancer and concludes that ‘Cancer has made me take a step back and look through the window of life at what is ahead of me’ . Spare a few minutes and read the full article here.

In a separate development, evangelical ‘scientists’ in Kansas announce that gravity is not a force, but an ‘intelligent falling’ caused by God pushing things down!

You choose where the wisdom is to be found…

Images: telegraph.co.uk and theonion.com

[NB: The Onion is in fact a spoof news site - all too easy to be taken in! Decided to leave the post up though...since it directs you to Charlie Willams' remarkable (and genuine) words.]

Those of you who have read the tale of the Littlest Star will know that he didn’t have a ‘trail of sparks to tow behind him across the heavens.’ However, when the Littlest Star completed his 2011 journey at the offices of Shooting Star Chase yesterday, he left quite a trail of sparks behind him:

• 1 publishing record – concept to publication in 22 days
  
• 1 author
• 1 illustrator
• 1 graphic designer
• 1 production manager
• 1 generous printer
• 1 impressed comedienne
• 1 mail manager
• 2 BBC interviews
• 100s of tweets
• Readings in churches, schools,a toy shop, a hospice and lots of bedrooms, kitchens and cars
• 11 supportive local businesses
• 379 copies sold
• Over £1800 raised for Shooting Star Chase

Katy Jones takes delivery of the money...

Huge thanks are due to all those mentioned above -for the generous donation of their time and talents. Through their generosity they have contributed to the lives of children in the most severe need.

What next for Littlest Star? There are copies of the book ready to sell locally and online for Christmas 2012. Wouldn’t it be better, though, if a publisher could be found to promote the book nationally? Anyone with contacts to make that dream a possibility should please make contact via the comments on this blog, or via @richardlittleda on Twitter.

Earlier this week Mariella Frostrup responded to a truly desperate letter from an overstretched working mother. Working 60 hours each week and caring for a two-year old in her ‘spare’ time, she wondered whether church might be any help despite the fact that she doesn’t believe in God? Some of Mariella’s comments are uncomfortably honest:

Only a truly desperate creature would contemplate embracing a religion they don’t believe in just to get some respite from their daily life.

Some are cynical:

 I’d nod in acquiescence to a mythical life in the hereafter in return for some peace and quiet in the here and now.

Others perfectly combine the naive and the patronising:

The songs and solace offered by the church have taken on a compelling new allure. Led by kindly, cuddly, old-world characters like Rowan Williams who you suspect, given 10 minutes audience, would really understand your problems.

Nobody could argue with her depiction of the death of community though, nor the fact that in our insanely busy lives we need it more rather than less. My issue is more with the way that she portrays the church as a kind of anaesthetic for the pain of community separation. She seems to feel that some time off from the chores of home and work, together with a blast of enthusiastic hymn-singing is good enough no matter what you believe. Surely there is more to it than that?

Surely, too, the church described by Frostrup as a ‘real-life’ community can offer a lot outside the hymn-singing arena?  In the course of an average week in the church where I am writing this people come in to read books, play with their children, exercise at zumba or pilates, give blood, check their homework and more besides. To be a community church is a description of mission, not location.

Last word goes to Mariella Frostrup, though with this delicious piece of irony:

Church seems as good a place as any to start your search for salvation!

Teddington Baptist Church - a mosaic of people

There’s been a lot of debate today in the Twittersphere about whether the Queen needs a new yacht or not, and whether the Guardian’s front page was a hideous mistake or a clever juxtaposition. (If you haven’t seen it – click here). Most people seem to feel that with the ship of state rocking in the financial storm it is not time for a new floating palace!

Ever since I first saw the little film below I have been looking for an excuse to use it, and the day of #yachtgate seems as good as any.

I find it charming, understated and beautiful. What do you think?