St Mary's, Highley

The Bethlehem Crib Scene

Christmas would not be Christmas, at least in a church, without a crib scene with the baby Jesus in the manager. Billingsley now has three cribs, albeit one lacking Jesus. The Evangelical Lutheran Church in Bethlehem has created a very topical crib scene in their church this year; the baby Jesus rests on the rubble of a destroyed building, reflecting the situation in Gaza. In this scene, Mary and Joseph are not next to Jesus, neither are the shepherds and wise men. Apparently they are outside the ruins, apparently desperately seeking Jesus to see if he has survived the devastation. It is a powerful scene, speaking of the reality of life in a war zone, be it Gaza, Israel, Ukraine or countless other places where there is conflict. But as I reflect on what it shows, I find myself wondering who are the rescuers and who is being rescued? Is it that Mary, Joseph and the rest are the ones seeking the Christ child so they can be helped and healed? The day before I wrote this, I was moved by words of one of the chaplains to Aston University where I work; that a Jesus who only comes to those who are safe and happy is of no use to anyone. God came at Christmas in frail and vulnerable form to be with all and to save all.

Rev David Poyner

All in the Waiting

In 1940, amidst the bleakness of World War, T.S. Elliot wrote his poem, “East Coker”. It contains these lines;

“I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.”

I often struggle to understand Elliot, but I am always drawn to his words, for they have hints of great truth. In Advent we are waiting, but to wait without hope and to wait without love both sound bleak and to run against so much of what is instinctive and what is taught in countless sermons, including my own. But I think what Elliot is telling us is that it is simply enough to wait; we cannot know the future. Much as I may pray for peace in Ukraine, the Middle East and countless other places, my imaginings count for nothing. All I can do is to trust that “darkness will be light and the stillness the dancing”, but it will require the agony of death and birth. At Christmas, I see that death and birth made flesh.

Rev David Poyner

In the End

We are well into Advent. Most people think of this as a count-down to Christmas and even within the church, this is now a large part of what it is about. However, originally it had a much more sombre feel. It was a time of preparation, for the end of time itself and also for our own end. Sermons focussed on the four “last things”, heaven, hell, death and judgement. Today in the church these get moved forward, to November and its emphasis on remembrance. But death is always with us. A recent survey has shown how quickly attitudes to death and, most especially, funerals are changing. Only 47% of those in the survey say that they want a funeral; the preferred option is a direct cremation with the money instead being spent on a party to celebrate the life of the deceased. Funerals are considered expensive but also gloomy. The first of these perceptions is true but, speaking as someone who buries people for a living, I do not recognise the “gloomy” bit. I do not think I have been to or lead a funeral where there has not been smiles and laughter at some point, alongside the tears. Those include both religious services but also those led by humanist celebrants, who are equally aware of the need to balance the need for space to grieve and bring closure with celebration and commemoration of a life. I always think that the funeral is not ultimately for the deceased; God knows that person and was with them at their end. Instead funerals are their for us, the living, to allow us to say goodbye to our loved one but then start the process of saying hello to them, as they now live in our memories and ultimately rise with Christ.

Rev David Poyner

A New Illuminated Bible

A new illuminated Bible, created by hand, has just been completed. This is the first time for 500 years such a Bible has been commissioned by a Benedictine monastery; in this case, St John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota, in the USA. The project was first discussed in 1998, when a calligrapher, Donald Jackson, approached the community with a proposal for the book. It took 15 years for the book to be created. There is of course just one original, but 300 copies have also been produced and cost a minimum of $160,000 each. One is now in Lambeth Palace, the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Some may question the purpose of the project. I however am with the monks who commissioned the Bible, in order to “ignite the spiritual imagination”. Imagination is one of the defining marks of being human, it allows us to reach out, to see beyond the present into the realms of what-can-be, what we long for. Art, in all its forms, can take us to places words and logic cannot. Donald Jackson speaks of how he lets the inanimate materials he works with, paper, wood, glass, “speak from its own personality”, how he longs “to leave it more handsome than [he] found it”. He breathes “life, soul and rhythm” into letters. I love this vision. This is accessible to anyone, but for myself, as a Christian, it opens a window to God.

Rev David Poyner