Sleaford Parish Church
|Posted on March 17, 2021 at 5:10 AM|
Palm Sunday is normally a day of drama: the service would begin outside the church, in the marketplace. With palm crosses lifted high we would go in procession around the church – singing! Often we would have a dramatized reading of the whole passion narrative. These dramatic touches set the scene for the drama of Holy Week. Holy Week is dramatic, from the stations of the cross, through foot-washing and the stripping of the altar on Maundy Thursday, to kneeling at the foot of the cross on Good Friday. We participate in this drama as we walk with Christ to Calvary. But that journey begins on Palm Sunday: we are invited to be part of the crowd, we wave our palm leaves, we shout Hosanna! But our palm leaves have not simply been torn from an obliging tree – it has been shaped into the form of a cross. We know where this journey is going, and our palm leaves point to the cross. The people of Jerusalem, 2000 years ago, did not anticipate the crucifixion when they shouted Hosanna. We may wonder how the same voices that shouted ‘Hosanna!’ could, within the space of one week, turn against Jesus and shout ‘crucify him!’ We are invited to participate in this drama and become those voices, because we are those same voices. Lent begins on Ash Wednesday - a cross of ash is marked on our foreheads in the same place that we were marked with the sign of the cross at our baptism. We are reminded that even though we have been welcomed into Christ’s family at our baptism, our readiness to live for self has marred god’s image in us. The consequences of this are worked out through Holy Week. The people welcomed the Messiah only to reject him when he didn’t do what they wanted. We can welcome the Messiah only to reject him when it doesn’t suit their desires. We physically walk this journey of Holy Week from Palm Sunday to Good Friday as participants in the drama to remind ourselves that we are part of that crowd, whose shouts went from ‘Hosanna!’ to ‘Crucify him!’, for it is to that same crowd that Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.’
This year we may not be able to act out the drama in the way we usually do but we will still be participating – in church and online – in this great drama of our salvation.
|Posted on March 4, 2021 at 3:45 AM|
Vicar's Message- 5th March 2021
Last year I recorded the Mothering Sunday service in the Lady Chapel. It was the first service I recorded for YouTube and the only Sunday service to be
recorded in the church (without congregation) before the Archbishops ordered the churches to be closed. By the time we get to Mothering Sunday this year 135 services will have been recorded (and are all still available to watch on YouTube). As Mothering Sunday marks the first anniversary of the pandemic restrictions it seemed appropriate to use some of the texts and prayers for that day in this Coronacle. There are many different ways of approaching Mothering Sunday, but this year I have been thinking of the motherhood of God. We may more commonly refer to God as father but, as the text from Isaiah and the
eucharist prayer attest, God is also our mother. Perhaps we focus more on God as father because that is what Jesus called God – abba, father. But to do so at the expense of ignoring the more feminine terms is something of an oversight. In Isaiah and the psalms the mothering aspects of God are spoken of in terms of care and compassion – the psalms speak of God as a mother hen gathering her chicks under the security of her wings. The alternative collect for
Mothering Sunday refers to God as ‘careful’, not in the sense of reticent or not taking risks but of watching over, paying attention – being full of care.
Over the past year, as a nation, we have learned much about ourselves. Many have reported an increase in neighbourliness – looking out for those (especially the elderly and vulnerably) who live near us. One newspaper
commented that the fundraising walker Capt. Tom reminded us of values that we had almost lost.
The Mothering Sunday collect reminds us that God holds us in the palms of his hands all the days of our lives. Even through the darkest days of the pandemic God has held us in his hands. Throughout the pandemic people have shown motherly care for those in isolation… collecting and delivering shopping and many other essential acts of neighbourliness. In these actions we are not only held in God’s hands but hold others also. We live out in our lives the
motherhood of God in all the acts of compassion, kindness, care, and
neighbourliness. I hope that this is something that will not be lost when the pandemic wanes.
|Posted on February 3, 2021 at 4:10 AM|
I can’t believe it is nearly Ash Wednesday! Lent is almost upon us. Our first YouTube service of lockdown was for Mothering Sunday – the mid-point of Lent. Ninety-five services have subsequently been filmed and made available on YouTube. Some of those services have been recorded in front of a live congregation, others in an empty church or the vicarage sitting room. The course of this pandemic has taken us through the full cycle of the Christian year. And so, we come to Ash Wednesday. The words of the prophet Joel (one of the set readings for Ash Wednesday) seems very apposite – a day of darkness and gloom! We might replace the word ‘day’ with ‘year’. I did not expect when we first started recording services that, a year later, we would still be in lockdown but I did expect the virus to mutate and create new variants. I was a clinical microbiologist before ordination and worked with Coronavirus in the past – its ability to mutate and create new variants was not unknown! At the time of writing there has been no news about when this lockdown will end, but I suspect that even when the restrictions are eased the reality will be little more than that – an easing.
I am glad that vaccines are being rolled out across the country and that the most vulnerable are getting vaccinated, but this is little more than the beginning of the end of the pandemic. The passage from Joel might cause some to think that events like the pandemic are a punishment from God but that is a misreading of the prophet. Joel speaks of the day of the Lord as a day of judgement for our sinfulness and disobedience. He uses metaphors of ‘this-world’ catastrophes (darkness, earthquake etc) to help the people understand the awfulness of God’s judgement. His message is primarily to encourage the people to turn back to God. Perhaps it is only when we are in the midst of a fearful pandemic that can we appreciate how far, as individuals and as a nation, we have turned away from God. The call of Lent encourages to turn again to God and walk in his ways, for it is in hm only that our hope and salvation are founded.
|Posted on January 20, 2021 at 5:05 AM|
Lockdown 3.0 – who would have guessed that we would be in lockdown again! For all the talk of recapturing the spirit of March once again, this lockdown is very different. In Lockdown 1.0 there was a sense that if we do what we are told the pandemic will soon be over. The streets were empty, wildlife recolonised urban spaces, people stood at their front door and clapped for the NHS. After the respite of the summer November brought Lockdown 2.0 – a time-limited lockdown that many accepted because they hoped to enjoy the freedom that Christmas promised. Last minute changes to what we could do at Christmas, I suspect, have gone some way to setting the scene for this latest iteration of the Lockdown. With every lockdown the rules and guidance have been different which perhaps leads to a sense of confusion – is anyone really sure what the rules are? A simple message like ‘stay at home’ now has so many exceptions that it is almost meaningless. We are told that schools are closed but what does that mean when children of key workers go in to school every day (and for some schools that means a lot of children), teachers are still working either from school or from home and children are learning.
Since Lockdown 2.0 a vaccine has been trialled successfully and the vaccination programme has begun. This gives hope (especially to those who are prioritised) but reports of new variants emerging can equally raise doubts. This lockdown is not time-limited – will it end in February? March? April? There are many uncertainties that counterbalance the good news of a suitable vaccine.
This is our context for the season of Epiphany (the revelation of Christ to the nations that come to an end at Candlemas. When Mary and Joseph take Jesus to the Temple (when he is 40 days old), to perform the rites of purification and give thanks to God, they are met by Simeon. He speaks to them of Jesus being a sign – someone who points the way – but this sign will be opposed. He also speaks of the personal cost that Mary will feel as a result of this opposition.
We live in unsettled times. We, perhaps, look for a sign – ‘when will all this end?’ We feel something of the pain of isolation, separation, fear. We worry about the future for ourselves, our children, our grandchildren. We hope the vaccine will bring about a return to ‘normality’ but we have some doubts. The message of epiphany reminds us that in the midst of the most troubled and unsettling times Christ is with us, a sign pointing to the goodness of God and in whom our hope is well-founded.
|Posted on December 15, 2020 at 3:50 AM|
A voice cries out in the wilderness…’ I wonder what you think of when you hear the word ‘wilderness’. There are few places in the UK that qualify aswilderness – Ranoch Moor is one of them. ‘Bleak’ and ‘inhospitable’ are words that come to my mind. The ancient Near East may be known as the fertilecrescent but the fertility of the land is in comparison to the desert and harsh Canaanite Highlands that surround the fertile plains. It was on the bleakuplands that you found the shepherds, moving their flocks from one patch of scrubby grass to another. The reality of the good land flowing with milk and honey to which God had led the people of Israel is always viewed against the harshness of the wilderness – the long years of wandering after the exodus from Egypt until the finally arrived in the fertile plains of Canaan. The Old Testament (almost) begins with years in the wilderness, but it (almost) ends with years in exile – both times of harsh testing.
So, the wilderness wasn’t just a physical reality. The wilderness hasmetaphorical significance: anxiety, uncertainty, vulnerability, these are all part of the wilderness experience. For many, this year has been a wildernessexperience – and the prospect for next year isn’t much improved. The hope of the lockdown being eased on December 2nd has been dashed by the reality of ‘Tier 3’. A review date is set for the 16th, but will the move to the (slightly) freer ‘Tier 2’ actually happen? Will the five days of (relative) freedom over Christmas result in a tighter lockdown in January? What will be the impact on local businesses? Schools? Medical services? I am a trustee of a charity that provides relief to those in need and the last few months have seen asignificant rise in applications for assistance – a trend that I can’t see changing any time soon. The restrictions on physical contact and social interaction are taking their toll on mental health and well-being. Anxiety. Uncertainty.Vulnerability. We are all in a wilderness.
But the prophet Isaiah spoke into such situations. He reminds us that God is with us and prepares us for the incarnation, but he goes much further. His message of hope is also a direct challenge to the wilderness. The Canaanite Highlands will become like the fertile plains: that which is bleak and inhospitable will become habitable and pleasant. We may not know what the world will be like the other side of this pandemic but the message of Advent and Christmas is that we will not be in the wilderness for ever – the rough place will become plain.
|Posted on November 18, 2020 at 4:00 AM|
At the time of writing my last piece for the Coronacle I knew that Remembrance Sunday would be different this year. I had not expected that the country would be back in Lockdown. I am not the only one to notice that this lockdown feels very different to the one that began in March. The first lockdown was marked by clapping for the NHS, traffic missing from the roads, birdsong, and other signs of nature in spring bloom. We are now deep in autumn: trees are shedding their leaves and the nights are drawing in. Lincolnshire, which first time round seemed to be largely unaffected by the pandemic, is now on the front line. Our hospitals are struggling to cope. We expect the lockdown to be eased on 2nd December but what that actually means is still uncertain. I am formulating plans for how we might celebrate Christmas, or to be more precise, how we can enable as many people as possible to receive Christmas Communion. Midnight mass, assuming that public worship is permitted, will be very different. There will be restrictions on the numbers we can accommodate, and I do not expect that we will be allowed to sing carols.
The mood of this advent and Christmas will be very different, but perhaps more realistic. We tend to forget that Advent has a parallel in Lent… both are penitential seasons. Although through Advent we often focus on the theme of hope we could equally focus on death & judgement. During Advent we are encouraged to reflect on the dire state of the human condition and the world we inhabit. Climate change activists make many headlines but it took the first lockdown for many to realise to what extant modern human life has suppressed the natural world… we noticed birdsong and wildlife in our gardens to a far greater extent than we have for years. This year has caused many to re-assess their proprieties. But we have also watched politicians, presidents and others try to cling on to power; we have seen the vulnerable suffer and the weak grow weaker. Injustice and inequality abound.
Somethings never change. It took the sacking of Jerusalem and 70 years of exile in Babylon for the children of Abraham to realise how far they had wandered astray from walking in the ways of God. But it was during that exile that the prophetic voice of hope reached its climax. When they were at their lowest ebb (By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept! How can we sing the songs of Zion in a strange land?) they learned again what it meant to trust in God and walk in his ways. When everything seemed like doom they realised that God was still with them and had not forsaken them. But it was in that metaphorical darkness that prophets spoke of the Light of Hope. This is the message we hear throughout Advent and it come to fulfilment at Christmas. We hear it in the Gospel reading for Christmas day – the light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it. Perhaps the pandemic and experiences of this year will get us closer to the true meaning of Christmas.
|Posted on November 11, 2020 at 2:30 AM|
All Saints, All Souls, Remembrance… and onwards to Christ the King and Advent. In recent times this period from All Saints to Advent has been termed the Kingdom Season. The gospel readings are all about the Kingdom of God, but I always notice the emphasis on death. As the nights draw in and autumn gets ever closer to winter we mark All Souls Day – the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed. In normal years we invite the families of all those for whom we have taken a funeral service over the past year to our family remembrance service. Obviously, this year, that will not be possible. We will mark All Souls in other ways for it is a time when we collectively remember those whom we have loved, those who inspired us, taught us the faith; those now parted from us and for whom we grieve. The text I have chosen for this month is from St Paul’s first letter to the Church in Thessalonica. It talks about grief and hope. Paul does not say that we should not grieve when someone we have loved dies (although I have heard it interpreted that way!). What Paul says is that there is a significant difference between grief without hope and grief with hope. Both types of grief are real and painful, but they are different. However, to understand the difference we must understand what the hope is. For Paul, the hope is specific. It is grounded in the story of the cross and resurrection and Christ’s victory over death. It is because of this, and only because of this, that we can have a sure and certain hope in the resurrection of the dead… and it is this that makes the difference to grief.
A few days later the nation gathers for another act of collective remembrance:
Armistice Day. This year there will be no military parades or mass gatherings, but we will remember. The Great War is now all but beyond living memory; those who fought in the second World War are rapidly diminishing… but we still remember. They have been other conflicts in the intervening years… and we still remember. And the reason it is important to remember is that our hope for the future is based in no small part on our remembrance of the past. We remember not only the great sacrifice counted in lost lives, but in what they fought for. If we forget then we will make the same mistakes again. Power is seductive and there will always be those who seek to rise to power though belligerence and tyranny. There will always be those in power who maintain their position through violence and terror. There will always be those who extend the range of their power through oppression and unjust systems. The collect for Remembrance Sunday paints a different view of the world… a view of the world that is closely aligned with the images of the Kingdom of God which we read in the gospels. We yearn for the day when the whole world will be free from war and terror, when all peoples will be able to know justice and freedom… Every day we pray in the Lord’s Prayer ‘Your Kingdom come, on earth as in heaven’ – this too is our hope. It is not a reality yet. We must remember the horrors of war to strengthen our courage to work and pray for the Kingdom of God to come… or to use the Latin word – Advent. Fr Philip
|Posted on November 11, 2020 at 2:25 AM|
This is the 10th edition of the Coronacle! What was intended as a short term means of communication has become a new ‘normal’. This is normally a busy time in the church’s calendar: Harvest, our Patronal Festival, St Luke, All Saints, All Souls, Remembrance, Christ the King… and before we know it,
Advent and Christmas. All these festivals will be marked but this year will be very different from our ‘normal’. Although Harvest will feature in church the main celebration of harvest will be on our YouTube channel. Most of it was recorded on a farm! Remembrance Sunday will be marked but we are still awaiting guidance from the Royal British legion as to what might be possible. Our All Souls service where we invite all those for whom have taken funerals over the past 12 months will not be possible this year, even though it is
probably more needed this year than ever. What might be possible for the Advent - Christmas season: Christingle?? Carol services??? Midnight mass?
Perhaps a crib service recorded for YouTube in a stable?
So much of what we would normally do seems impossible. The text for this month is from one of the readings from our Patronal Festival. Paul reminds the church in Corinth of the difficulties and hardships he and his companions faced. When we look at the life of St Denys and his companions we find a similar litany of difficulties and hardships. In fact, the entire story of the
early church could be summarised as one of challenges, struggles, and
difficulties. The ‘good news’ that they proclaimed stood in stark contrast to the reality of their everyday lives: imprisonments, beatings, executions… and yet, they continued to proclaim the good news of God’s love made manifest in Jesus. The story of St Denys reminds us that even after Denys was
decapitated he continued to preach until at last, through loss of blood, he fell and died. The Basilica of St Denys in Paris marks the spot of his death… some distance from Montmartre, the site of the execution.
This year we face significant challenges, but we will continue to proclaim the good news of God in Christ. We will be more creative. The way we do things will have to be different and we may feel a sense of loss about some
services we love. However, the message is still the same: God is with us and loves us more then we can tell.
|Posted on November 11, 2020 at 2:25 AM|
Well, that was the Summer holidays! I don’t think the holidays lived up to my expectations but then I’m not sure that I knew what my expectations were. I might have an idea of an ‘ideal holiday’ but fantasy and reality do not often align. And this year was always going to be different!
However, when I wrote at the beginning of the summer I did not imagine that my wife and family would be caught up in the mad rush to get home from France (she had been visiting her parents) within the 36 hours’ limit before quarantine became compulsory. Neither did I imagine that an easyrelaxing day in the Lakes near Buttermere could turn so quickly until I witnessed a major cycle crash with serious life-limiting, if not life-threatening, injuries. Some 2 hours later the casualty was airlifted to hospital while I continued to give a statement to the police regarding how the accident had occurred. If we add to these incidents the generally wet and windy weather – this was not the summer I had expected!
But we move on into September and at the end of this month we celebrate the feast of St Michael and All Angels. The text I have chosen for this month comes from the readings for that feast – Jacob’s dream of angels ascending and descending a ladder from heaven. The passage ends with Jacob’s realisation that God is with him – that God is physically in that place. How easy it can be for us to forget that God is in this place – that God is with us! Times may be difficult, the future uncertain but God has not abandoned us – God is still with us.
I was reminded of this most poignantly on the lakeside fell as I administered first aid to the cycling casualty and awaited help in the form of paramedics. I asked her various question both to ascertain concussion but also, if her condition did deteriorate, I would have more information to pass on to the professionals. I also identified myself by name and that I was a padre in the reserves. She responded to this with joy (well as much joy as you can show when in severe pain and drifting in and out of consciousness) saying that she was a Christian and asked me to pray for her. What a poignant reminder that even in the midst of major trauma and tragedy God is with us.
|Posted on July 22, 2020 at 3:55 AM|
The Summer holidays are here at last! The schools have broken up! apart from the fact that many children have not been to school for months. I took part in an online leavers service for children from the William Alvey School – a very strange way to end their years at that school. None of the secondary school prizegiving’s took place. In fact, so much of what fills up our usual summer diary has either been cancelled or is happening in such an odd way it bears little relation to what we usually do. Summer fayres have been cancelled (ours included), outdoor theatre and concerts likewise – no brass bands will be found on a park bandstand this year. Cricket has started but a Test Match against the West indies without a crowd of spectators is surreal. Summer holidays – it is possible to get away but unless you are camping it will be a very different experience… and if you try to go abroad it’s possible you might not get back quite so easily!
One thing that hasn’t changed much is the idea of holiday reading – various newspapers and periodicals are publishing their reading suggestions for summer as they always do. As I like books, I generally peruse these lists to see what I have already read and to see if I can spot something interesting that I might otherwise have missed. Choosing the books I will take away on holiday is more important than choosing the clothes I will take! One big difference this year is that my holiday reading has started a bit earlier than usual – mid-March to be precise. Throughout lockdown I have been reading even more than I usually do! My book of the moment is William Hague’s biography of William Wilberforce (who is commemorated by the CofE on 30 July along with fellow anti-slavery campaigners Thomas Clarkson and Olaudah Equiano). I was inspired to re-read it because of the events around the toppling of Coulston’s statue in Bristol. Two things have struck me reading this book: the length of time it took to change the hearts and minds of people and the parameters that Wilberforce set for the Parliamentary legislation. Rather than abolish slavery, he sought through Parliament to stop the Trans-Atlantic trade (the Middle Passage) in the hope that once this was achieved slavery itself could be tackled. I was struck by his wisdom in this matter.
In our days when there is so much call for change (some of it radical) I am reminded of the need of Rienhold Niebuhr’s prayer from the early 1930s – a prayer that reminds me of Wilbeforce.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.