Rooks

A favourite sight and sound is a busy rookery in Spring.  I was at Manafon Parish Church today, and there's quite a substantial rookery just behind the churchyard. I didn't count the number of nests, but there must have been thirty or more, wonderfully untiday assemblages of sticks, you wonder how they manage to stay up there. Of course, they don't, not always - a storm can bring them down, or nests can be made unstable through neighbouring birds filching material from them. Just because birds choose to live together in colonies doesn't mean they're not also competitive and at times hostile towards one another. Bit like us, really.

The cawing of the rooks was a permanent background noise throughout my time at Manafon. I didn't have much opportunity just to stand and observe the rookery, but for the short time that I did, I found it hugely entertaining. The birds seem to bounce about the trees, and from time to time most of the colony take to the air together, with a consonant increase in noise levels. Rooks are both the farmer's friend and his enemy, I suppose: they can be destructive of crops, but they are also important predators of many pest species.  There's no doubt, though, that the countryside would be a whole lot poorer without its established rookeries.

Celandines

There's a place on the way into Shrewsbury from here, just a stretch of verge by the side of road down towards The Mount, where there is always a brilliant show of early celandines. So I remembered to keep a look out when driving past today, and, yes, there they were in all their glory. While it can be a garden pest to a degree, anywhere else the celandine is a real delight: it is an early buttercup with no petals, but with golden sepals doing the job instead. Sometimes there can be a double helping or more of sepals. I love the leaves, too, heart-shaped and often subtly patterned. Celandines open with the sun, so always look their best when the weather is bright. They have quite a long flowering season, from February through to May (though I've seen a few out here and there before Christmas when it's been mild), but are finished by the time the summer flowers really get under way. Celandines also propagate themselves vegetatively, via little bulbils which, as I know from experience, easily come away and hide themselves in the garden when you're trying to weed!

These were photographed by me a year ago on Pontesford Hill.

Farewell Thoughts

A verse I was working on yesterday . . .

All things pass;

the seasons come and go,

and the years turn, and turn again.

The colours of sunrise fade into the day,

and the brightest sunset must darken into night.

We must take the weather as it is,

but even then the rain stops falling after a while.

All things pass.

What about our own thoughts and dreams,

our visions, our illusions:

will these pass too?

What lies ahead we cannot tell.

We must take the weather as it is,

as it comes, make the most of each new day,

each new friendship, each adventure.

We live in a world of possibilities.

And after that? Who can tell

what changes yet there might be,

and what new dawns.

It is enough for the moment

to take things as they come -

to make some good memories,

and to leave them with good friends.

(Loosely based on the thoughts of Lao-Tzu [6th century BC])

Thought for the Day

Put simply, our task is to see people as God sees them, and to act accordingly.

(Rowan Williams)

Blackbirds

We still have lots of blackbirds in our garden, and very argumentative they are too. They soon learn to head for the ground under the feeders if, for example, the nuthatch or the woodpecker pay a visit (and when the local squirrels gatecrash), because they know then that there'll be plenty of food falling to the ground that they can grab. At least one blackbird has learned to perch on the feeder containing fatty chunks. He's a bit ungainly there, but manages to get his lunch.

Today one of the blackbirds has been singing, the first I've heard this year. He didn't sing for very long, nor indeed all that well, but he had a go. Robins of course are singing continually, and a mistle thrush has been singing from the top of a tall cypress over the road - in typical mistle thrush fashion, continuing to sing even when its blustery and spitting rain. It hasn't been doing that today, of course: sunny and mild if with a stiffish breeze at times; celandines are beginning to be a bit more serious about flowering, and we have a fine show of crocus, with grape hyacinths just beginning. We have a line of four flowering trees in our back garden, all fifteen years or so old, planted here to mark the millennium. I don't know what they all are, though one is a species of hawthorn with the most awful scent, and another is the rowan variety with the lovely pale pink berries. Anyway, the first in the row is the earliest of all our trees to leaf, and it's just starting now, nice to see.

We have lots of long tailed tits at present, and it's lovely to watch their acrobatics as they visit the feeders. However, we also have one solo bird that visits, and often stays for long periods. If a party passes through he stays aloof. He sat for a while in one of our cherries this afternoon, feathers fluffed up like a little ball, but otherwise just enjoying the sun, I suppose. There was a chaffinch there doing the same. At other times he seems lively enough, visiting the feeders and hunting up and down the cypress hedge between us and next door, so I don't think he's poorly. Just a little strange, that's all; Ann suspects he might not realise that he's a long-tailed tit and therefore supposed to be sociable - a comment which raises the issue of just how self-aware and species-aware any of our garden visitors really are.

Sunday Talk for the Second of Lent

I don’t know why I do it, it only makes me cross. I was reading the letters column the other day in one of our local papers.  I won’t say which one, though it doesn’t really matter; they all have the same effect on me. And don’t get me started on the letters page of Church Times.  It's not that I necessarily disagree with the things people write.  I'm often just as angry as they are about being messed about by petty officialdom, or by the government, the European Union, or whomever - including, I have to say, the Church, from time to time.  Yeah, I can see where they might be getting it wrong; but what does annoy me are some of the facile comments and simplistic solutions that so many of the writers of letters then produce.

Because I think - if it was really as simple as all that, don't you think someone would have sorted everything out by now?  And anyway, I think, being naturally bad tempered and cynical, if people who write letters to papers really are as good as they think they are at knowing what should be done and how things should be run, how come they’re not up there doing it, instead of the present bunch of no-hopers who are supposedly running the show?  Or the no-hopers on the other side who hope to be doing it after the election in May?

I suppose most people who write letters to the press really just want a bit of a rant, and to get stuff out of their system. Even if they end up transferring some of their crossness to me. And of course, it’s true that a bit of a rant can do you the world of good.  I was rung up a couple of weeks back by someone who just ranted on for about three minutes, then said sorry and hung up.  Since I wasn't in, they’d spoken to my answer phone - but I can’t think it would have been much different if I’d been in.  I don’t think they wanted anything back from me, just for me to be a sort of sponge, soaking up some of the frustration and annoyance that the person who rang was obviously feeling. 

It was someone I know, by the way.  Not well, but a bit.  They haven't yet got call centres that call you up and rant at you.  Though that could be an interesting next step.  So the letters page and my answer phone were perhaps meeting a very similar need - and while they may not solve all our problems, just letting off steam probably does do some good.

Anyway, Peter has a bit of a rant at Jesus in today’s reading from St Mark’s Gospel. "No, Lord,” he says to him (in the version of this story in Matthew and Luke), “this shall never happen to you!"  Jesus has told the disciples that he's going to Jerusalem, and that he’s going to suffer and to die there.  Peter was dead angry: angry at what sounded to him like a prediction of failure. In effect Jesus had said: "I'm going to Jerusalem, and when we get there, it'll all go wrong."  So Peter has a rant at Jesus.

And Jesus then rants back.  "Get behind me, Satan!"  he says to Peter.  "You think as men think, not as God thinks!"  But the answer, to Peter, is simple.  If heading for Jerusalem is only going to lead to suffering and certain death, then don't go there.  Change your plans, if you know they’re bound to fail.  Well, that may be the way of the world, Jesus tells him (and us) - but it's not the way of God.

And Jesus then goes on to say something that really is quite powerful, and rigorous, and shocking, even, and he says it to all of us: those who come with him must deny themselves, and take up their cross.  You can’t accuse Jesus of conning his followers by offering them an easy life - or of asking his followers to face anything he’d not faced himself.  Following Jesus means imitating Jesus, being as like him as we can be, and taking his example to heart.  It’s like Paul wrote in one of his letters, "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me."  We call Jesus the King of love, and to love is to give of yourself, to surrender yourself for the sake of the other. 

Another title the Church gives to Jesus is “the Man for Others”. All that he does, he does in service to his Father and in love for those who need his care. That even included those who would hammer nails into his hands and feet and play dice for his possessions. Tough words - those who want to save their life will lose it. But Jesus is himself the message he preaches; and here he says to Peter and to us:  "What you see in me, try your best to be yourselves.  Love one another, as I have loved you."

To deny ourselves means to say no to our own interests, our own ease and comfort, and our own natural desire for a world that will serve our own needs, so that we can say a full and whole-hearted yes to the call of God. Jesus says: whatever you try to hang on to you’ll lose.  If you try and save stuff and hoard it up it just turns into dust and gets thrown away.  Life and love are gifts from God to be spent, not kept, to be used and not just used up.  To take up the cross means to risk our life, to spend our life, not to choose the safe option but to use our life to explore and pioneer, and, more than that, to care.

Well now, when I've calmed down a bit, and I look more carefully at the letters page, I think I see a common theme in the ones that really make me cross.  They’re usually people wanting to keep the world the way they like it, so they can be comfortable, and look after number one, and be content.  But reading on I discover that not all the letters are like that.  Some of them come from people who're looking for something better, not just for themselves but for others too:  people who want peace, justice, racial harmony, tolerance, charity, mercy - positive change, that all can share.  So let me repent of some of my own ranting and thank God for those people.  Thank God too for all who today still dare to take up that cross, still dare to love their neighbours as themselves, still dare to set self aside and persevere in the loving and gracious imitation of their Lord.

A Second Visit from the Sparrowhawk

Drama this morning at our garden feeders: one of our grey squirrels was feeding on peanuts when a sparrowhawk swept down from our house roof and aimed itself straight at the squirrel. At the last moment, the squirrel turned to face its potential nemesis, at which the hawk veered away into the wood. The squirrel dropped down from the feeders and remained stock-still for a few moments before scampering away. I've no idea whether a sparrowhawk would normally take something of the size of a squirrel, but this one was certainly prepared to have a go. Whether he had been perched on our roof waiting for something worth taking a pot at, or whether he had simply swept over the roof and down at the feeders in the hope that something might be catchable, I don't know. In the latter case the bird wouldn't necessarily have been aiming at the squirrel as such; in the former case, it would have.

And Again

Another cold day, with sleet, hail and freezing rain at times, though some sun as well that looked nice from where I was sitting in a warm office, but clearly wasn't, to see the pinched faces and turned-up collars of the passers-by. A busy day, and very little time to take note of anything much, but it was nice to see daffodils beginning to open in a number of places - cold or not, the spring maybe slowed, can't be stopped.

On my way home, a good sight of a kestrel, hovering, swooping, hovering again by the roadside. These birds really are masters of the air, and it must take some skill to hover on a day like today, when the air concerned was particularly turbulent at times.  I passed a buzzard sitting, looking to my eyes rather disconsolate, on a hawthorn hedge. This isn't something I would have ever seen as a child, as buzzards then were both scarcer and also much less prepared to be as close as this one was to human activity.

Cold

Miserable day today, so far as the weather was concerned. Garden emptied of birds by strong wind and rain, though, before that, delighted to see a party of long-tailed tits not at the feeders but prospecting busily through the elm branches behind us - they would go to the very tip of each twig. There's very little weight in these birds!

Sparrowhawk

This afternoon, a sparrowhawk swept through our garden - slate grey wings looking beautiful in today's cold but clear sunshine, a skilled and effortless transit of our patch, so in control. Our visiting birds had all scattered in plenty of time, and didn't return for quite a while. It was probably twenty minutes before we saw anything more than a couple of chaffinches. That leads me to think awhile on how for some birds, the blue tits that are among our most common visitors in particular, life is about being scared all the time. They will dart up to the feeder, grab something quickly, and flee, having first perched somewhere and looked around anxiously in every direction to make sure the coast is clear. Often they don't make it to the feeder at all, having been spooked by some real or imagined danger. Today one blue tit made a dash for the feeder only to bounce straight back, the blackcap being in residence and quickly on to him.

Woodpeckers again (etc)

A very wet start to today, but mild. The garden was once again full of long-tailed tits, which are the most delightful birds to see, almost fairylike in their delicacy.  A little more drumming from the great spotted woodpecker this morning, and both woodpeckers were seen, one at the feeders and the other not too far away.

A nice lunch with friends at Pontesbury. I love the Rea Valley and miss living there. Perhaps one day we'll move back. There wasn't enough time today, but sometime soon I shall repeat last year's spring walk around Pontesford Hill. The spring flowers there are always great, and I recall dawn chorus walks around the hill back in the days when we lived at Minsterley - the birdsong was wonderful.

I missed posting yesterday, so I haven't mentioned the tree creeper I saw the other day. I know there are always tree creepers around here, but it's rare to actually see one. You just have to be in the right place at the right time (though I did once know someone who - most unusually - had one that regularly visited his feeders). The mouse-like, jerky movements as the bird scurries up the trunk of a tree are a real giveaway, and I just caught that as I stood at the kitchen sink; that's the first one this winter, but two winters ago we had one prospecting the brick retaining walls in our front garden, and I was able to watch it for quite some time. That was a very cold spell, hence the comparatively unusual behaviour.

In all the rain this morning a mistle thrush was perched on the top of a tall cypress over the way from us, singing away. This bird is know for singing even when the weather is awful, hence the alternative name of stormcock.

Another Heron

I was away from home for most of yesterday, and had no chance to post a report, but, having seen a heron standing on the verge by the main road the other day, I had a repeat of that experience (different location, therefore presumably different heron) yesterday. This one was more readily spooked, and flew slowly across in front of me, looking rather prehistoric as herons always do (to me, anyway).

I wonder what is so interesting on the roadside verge? I'm guessing ditches, and therefore perhaps frogs, perhaps frogspawn (not sure whether herons take frogspawn, but there do seem to be some sightings).

Today, the garden is very busy, and we have had a band of maybe eight long-tailed tits on the feeders.  On Sunday we had just two, but clearly some at least are still in winter groups. The robins have clearly paired up, however - though there is a third interloper, and therefore some fighting!

Robins, Wigeon and Snipe

Another grey day, quite cool, more so than I expected. Birds very active in our garden, including a pair of robins, which is nice. They are supposed to pair on Valentine's Day, according to tradition, so these two have gone along with that very nicely.

It's been ages since I looked in at Llyn Coed y Dinas (Montgomeryshire Wildlife Trust reserve), but I had the chance to go there briefly this morning, to find that a bittern had been seen there yesterday. I didn't see one today - but there were some twenty or more teal, maybe the same number of wigeon, always a favourite of mine, a pair of goosanders, three shelducks, two oystercatchers, and as many as thirteen snipe. The snipe were at the bottom of a grass bank, close to the water's edge, and every so often a bird would run up the bank, presumably to feed. You get a distinct impression of a large bill travelling up the bank, with the rest of the bird then following. The cryptic plumage of the snipe works well in a variety of settings, and I had swept up and down that shoreline with my glasses several times before I spotted them.

Back home, the blackcap continues to put an astonishing amount of effort into chasing off other birds, and one wonders whether it's really worth it. A collared dove is managing to use our sunflower seed feeder, keeping its somewhat precarious balance by fanning its tail and extending a wing as it does so.

Celandines

Out for much of today, so little chance to observe our local birds. A coal tit has been very busy in our garden first thing this morning, and I was surprised by its call, high pitched and much more strident than I had expected. The blackcap is still busily keeping away every bird it can from the main feeding station.

On my way up country to Llangyniew, I saw a grey heron standing so close to the road that I might have taken it for a plastic replica somehow set down there. It was prospecting a hedgerow ditch, and seemed quite unconcerned that traffic was speeding past. I have to say it did look rather bedraggled and may not have been a very healthy bird.

The view across country from the main door of Llangyniew church has to be one of the finest anywhere around, even today when the light was poor and the cloud low. This is also a pretty cold spot to stand around in, but the churchyard contained a fair stand of snowdrops, plus the first celandines I have seen out this year. They were not very well out, not surprising since celandine flowers open with the sun, and there was none of that today; but I was able to count a dozen or more flowers, so a genuine sign of spring, with some sunny days due next week and improving temperatures, so I shall keep my eyes open.

I should of course call this flower the lesser celandine, since there is an unrelated greater celandine, a member of the poppy family. I quite like both flowers, but it was the lesser celandine that was a favourite flower of the poet William Wordsworth. The fact that the greater celandine is carved on one of his memorials testifies, I suppose, to the way in which English names can confuse.

Wobble

A bit of a wobble in the weather today, I think - just a splash of rain, and a bit breezier at times. Looking ahead, there seems a slightly milder prospect, but clearly there'll be a bit of rain about as well. Apart from going out this morning early to replenish the feeders, I've had no chance to check on our garden birds today, as I've been working in town, and people watching (plus a few feral pigeons and a magpie) instead. Yesterday, though, a magpie was doing me the service of clearing out my gutter (my brother usually does this for me)! We get a lot of moss growing on our roof, especially on the corner ridges, and it slips down into the gutters, which rather easily get blocked. The magpie was having a fair old time hoiking moss out of the gutter and flinging it around, presumably finding plenty of overwintering beasties in there as well. Magpies are experts at exploiting all kinds of possible food sources (eggs and nestlings included, of course, in the season); I remember some years ago visiting an old lady who told me a band of magpies had been uprooting and carrying away all the spring bulbs her gardener had planted in her rose bed, while she, not able to get up from her chair, could only look on in dismay.

Doves and Woodpeckers

The brief reappearance of a collared dove in our garden yesterday wasn't a one-off; today we've had three for much of the day. I'm very fond of them, although, despite not arriving in the UK until the 1950's, they're now numerous enough to count as an agricultural pest species. The scientific name for this bird is Streptopelia dekaokto, and they are supposed to chant "dekaokto" (Greek for eighteen - there's a legend I'll not re-tell just now), but I'm blowed if I can make that out of their not very sweet call!

Speaking of calls, I haven't heard any woodpecker drumming today, but we did have a female greater spotted visiting our feeders. Does that mean he's pulled, I wonder? Other birds seen today include immense numbers of blackbirds, and numbers of goldfinches and greenfinches. A wood pigeon has worked out that there is a twig that will just bear its weight close enough to the feeder in our front garden for it to reach it and gorge itself on sunflower seeds. It seemed insatiable, and eventually I tired of his greed and chased him off, opening the way once again for the usual sparrows, great tits and goldfinches.

Murky

A murky old day today, though staying dry except for some wisps of drizzle now and again. The woodpecker was drumming again this morning. It really is very loud; he's not far away, but I can't see him, though I think I see a branch in the large oak to the back of next door that seems to have had a fair bit of woodpecker attention.

I've moved some of the feeders around today, in the hope that this will limit the impact of the blackcap, which has been successfully keeping most birds away from the main feeding station for almost two weeks now. The immediate impact has been to reduce the number of birds visiting by quite a way - they'll need to get used to the new arrangement, I suppose. Mind you, a local cat stationed itself on our shed for a while - I think he just watches the birds, he doesn't seem to make any attempt at stalking or pouncing, but of course it won't help!

I did see, briefly, a collared dove today, though: it fluttered down, and fairly quickly fluttered away again. They've been missing from our garden for a couple of weeks, till now.

On the Wings of an Eagle

A talk given last Sunday, and based on readings from Isaiah 40, I Corinthians 9 and Mark 1 :-

“Those who look to the Lord will win new strength, they will soar as on eagles’ wings.” Part of the last verse of today’s first reading, from chapter 40 of the Prophecy of Isaiah.

There are no longer any eagles in these parts, but there are other slightly smaller birds of prey whose soaring flight can thrill our hearts. Not long ago, on a morning of driving snow, the clouds cleared and the sun suddenly shone, and all at once there were three buzzards wheeling above the churchyard in which I stood, in Selattyn; their mewing cries echoed across the snow and their bronze wings were glowing in the sun. Two days earlier, on a grey and misty morning, my heart was lifted by the sight of a pair of red kites display flying as only kites can do, masters of the air, as I piloted my car up the bank between Trewern and Middletown. Aren’t we lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world!

And isn’t there also something deep within each of us that longs to possess that same mastery of the elements, that same ability to rise up above the everyday and the mundane, all the stuff that constantly conspires to drag us down. Our feet are like lead; and our wings don’t seem to work at all; it would be easy to get depressed.

On our own, we can’t escape the ground. On our own, we get tangled up in things, not managing to untie the knots. But those who look to the Lord, says the prophet Isaiah, will win new strength; they will win from him a strength beyond any strength they can train up within themselves, and it will be as though they are flying. But here’s a thought: those who fly on eagles’ wings need also to be able to see with eagles’ eyes.

Watching great birds of prey, and marvelling at the way they seem able to control the air: buzzards hardly moving a wing muscle as they ride the thermals, kites rolling and tumbling, seeming almost to tumble out of the sky altogether, but then recovering and soaring back up there . . . you could imagine they’re doing it just for the sheer pleasure of it all, just because they can – and maybe, to some degree, that’s true. But these are also serious hunters, and from their lofty vantage points in the sky, there isn’t much they miss.

A golden eagle flying high above some Scottish glen may be hardly more than a speck in the sky; but his eyes may well be fixed on a ptarmigan or a mountain hare far below, too far for your eyes or mine to find focus. If we’re raised up on eagles’ wings we’re raised up to see further, to serve better and to do more. Those who are raised on eagles’ wings are raised up to praise, to proclaim and to preach. And for this we need not only the wings but the vision of eagles.

The witness of Paul is that where praising, proclaiming and preaching are concerned, he cannot help himself; this is what he has to do. I Corinthians chapter 9 verse 16 – “It would be agony for me not to preach”. It’s in the intrinsic nature of an eagle that it should soar and fly and hunt; for Paul, claimed and chosen and changed by Christ in such a dramatic way on the road to Damascus, it’s second nature now to praise and proclaim and preach his Lord wherever in the world he goes. This is his destiny;  this is what he must do.

So too the church of today must be soaring and flying in order to fulfil its high call: to praise and proclaim and preach must be second nature to us as well. We have good news; we don’t have to be stuck to the ground; we can fly. That’s not just our good news, it’s good news for the world.

In many ways I like the Gospel of Mark more than any of the others. I’m not sure why, maybe just because it’s probably the earliest to be written down, and it has a simplicity and directness about it which appeals to me. I think that’s particularly true of the beginning; the band of disciples is newly formed, and, as they travel around the lakeside towns and villages of Galilee there’s a sense in which all of them, Jesus himself included, seem to be sort of finding out just what it is they’re supposed to be doing as they do it. Or that’s how I read it, anyway.

Perhaps, for example, Jesus hasn’t yet begun to think of his mission as being beyond the bounds of his own part of the world – Galilee. He has yet to take the road to Jerusalem; he has yet to take the road to the cross; he has yet to take the road that will lead him out into all the world. Events and things said seem to provoke a new sense of his Father’s call. So here, it seems that it’s when the disciples say to Jesus, “Everyone’s looking for you” that Jesus then tells them, somewhat unexpectedly in my view, that it must therefore be time to move on.

Do you share my surprise at that? Jesus needed quiet times like the rest of us, and that’s where he’d gone, very early in the morning. No-one else was up, and when they got up, he was missing. And folk were already gathering at the door; so Simon Peter went off to try and find him. Well, of course, he was praying. “Everyone’s looking for you,” said Peter . . . and what I’d have said, maybe with something of a sigh of resignation, would I think have been along the lines of, “Well, all right then, I suppose I’d better come back with you, see what we can do.” But Jesus says, “Let’s leave this lot, and go and preach somewhere else.”

Vision, you see; seeing the bigger picture, seeing with the eyes of the Father. It might be very plausible and tempting to become the personal rabbi and healer for the people of Capernaum, but this is a message and a mission for more than Capernaum. For now, the message is still just to Galilee, not yet beyond, not yet to Judea and Jerusalem, not yet out into all the world. But that will come; once you have mounted up on eagles’ wings, then there are no limits to your vision.

So there you are. There are no limits. There is no “play it safe” option for the people of Jesus. We have been claimed and saved and transformed by a limitless love; how can we keep such good news to ourselves? And if I am to be raised up like an eagle, to float and soar high above the earth, it isn’t so that I can be set free from the earth with all its evil, but so that I can see more clearly what has to be done, and have the confidence and the courage and the love to play my part in telling the story, in passing on the word, in praising and proclaiming and preaching.

Jesus wasn’t turning his back on the people of Capernaum; indeed, it wasn’t long before he was back there and people were once again beating a path to the door of the house where he was staying. But nor was he, or his message, their possession; God’s love is for all the world to know, and no-one is excluded. Just recently, I’ve found myself agonising more than a bit about why it is that religion should be such a force for division and hatred within the world. God’s love is always inclusive, never exclusive: that is the essential message of the Gospels, and for Christians all scripture should be read and understood and used in the light of the Gospels, and our image and idea of God and of what he might want from us constantly measured and tested against what we see in Christ, and what we hear him say.

A simple measuring-stick that was shared with me a few weeks ago goes like this: “If it ain’t like Jesus, then it ain’t God.” Paul wrote that “God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself” – and that’s probably the one sentence of scripture that means most to me. When we look at Jesus, we see God in action, we see the love divine, all loves excelling, revealed in this man, in this human life, at this moment in history.

It’s human nature, sad to say, to divide into tribes, to take sides, to make gods out of your own sort and to demonise the others. There’s such a lot of that going on the world around us as we speak. And before we’re too quick to label any one of the great religions as mostly to blame, let’s be honest enough to admit that Christians have not been immune from the temptation to tribalism or, for that matter, triumphalism. But that’s not the perspective when you look with the eyes of an eagle; that’s not the perspective when you look with the eyes and understand with the mind of the one true God, and of Jesus Christ in whom all the fullness of his love is revealed.

There’s a bit of a difference between an eagle and a dove, but none the less the church has often wanted to link that prophetic promise of being able to be lifted up as though on eagles’ wings with the gift of the Holy Spirit. I think it’s a good link to make. If we have the mind of Christ, and a godly view of the world is formed within us, then that’s surely the work of the Holy Spirit. It’s the presence of the Holy Spirit that nerves and prepares us for mission and service, and that gives exactly what Isaiah is talking about – a strength and a courage beyond our own. It’s for this reason that we know that however dark and desperate the world may seem, we have no cause for despair and every reason to hope.

So: we are promised the ability to fly, or at least, to be spiritually renewed, refreshed and lifted up. And that’s not just so that we can feel good, nor is it a reward for our own marvellous goodness, but God’s gracious and undeserved gift given us to use, given so that we can serve him and proclaim him, so that the world may know his truth because of the love we bear and show and share, which is his love inspired within us.

And my last thought? I wonder what it feels like for one of these masters of the air, when the time comes for the young bird to take its first flight? You see them perched on the edge of the nest, not knowing whether they dare trust their wings. Eventually they do. Maybe the parents have to cajole them, perhaps by not bringing food to the nest but instead perching a little way off where the young bird can see.

It would be a sad thing if the young bird failed to fly; a bit of a waste of potential and power, and of the effort the parents had put into it all. What stops us from flying? Are we too timid, do we feel too small and weak? As the hymn reminds us, we have a gospel to proclaim, and we’ll not do that by staying safely on the nest. That would be a waste of God’s grace, and a sin of omission.

Garden Drama

A little drama at our garden feeding station this morning. I looked out to see the male bullfinch perched on the top of the feeding station, while his mate was taking sunflower seeds below. I love to see the protective way in which he acts, though I can find myself wondering whether there is any great advantage to bullfinches in mating for life as they do. Anyway, a squirrel approached, and the bullfinch swivelled round to address the squirrel, which immediately and rather timidly retreated. Round one to the bullfinch; but the blackcap then appeared, flew at the bullfinch and drove it away, branch to branch, while the female bullfinch also quietly made her escape. This allowed the squirrel back in, so he straightaway took up residence, and the blackcap will fly at most things, but not at a squirrel. The local robin appeared, though, and he did exactly that, flying boldly at the squirrel, which, however, this time stood his ground - though when I came back to the window a minute or two later, the squirrel was gone and the robin in residence, happily feeding.

Meanwhile, we have had some incredibly loud drumming from our greater spotted woodpecker this morning. He must have found a good resounding branch or pole quite close by, though I couldn't manage to see him (or her, perhaps: both sexes drum, but it's the male who drums loudly at this time of the year to attract a mate - and that drumming is reported to be "astonishingly loud", which this morning's drumming certainly was!). The sound must carry a considerable distance, even in dense woodland.

Cold Start

A much colder start this morning than I was expecting, with a heavy frost in places, though not everywhere - Shrewsbury seemed to have had a frost-free night. On a frosty morning, wildlife is easier to see, things are bolder: at one point on my way in to work I had to slow quite markedly in order to allow a collared dove time to take off from the roadway.  Driving out and about today, I had several good views of buzzards; from a bird one saw only now and then, and usually at a distance, these are now common and everyday, maybe perched on a hedge right by the road.

The day was for the most part sunny and pleasant, though never warm. Snowdrops are well in flower, and our daffodils at home are nicely in bud. Though we don't get the great murmurations in these parts that can be seen elsewhere, it was nice to see a good number of starlings feeding together in the fields near Four Crosses, and rising to gather in two trees right by the road. For some reason, we never get starlings in our garden, having to be content with occasional birds passing by.  This winter I haven't seen as many fieldfares and redwings as usual, though this may just reflect the fact that I've done less winter walking than maybe I do most years.

Sunsplash

Today began with freezing fog, but it eventually cleared to leave a bright and sunny day of clear skies and loud birdsong. Robins continue to chase each other around our back garden, and the blackcap is continuing to be a bit of a pain, driving everything else away from within two or three feet of our main feeding station. Except the nuthatches, which have been particularly busy today. We've had some busy magpies around today as well, but the main thing to note has been the presence of large numbers of tits, mostly blue tits, coming to the feeders from time to time but for a lot of the time prospecting along the branches of the elms and ashes to the back of us. Long tailed tits appeared among them for a time.

The drops left on the branches by the morning mist were a delight to see sparkling in the sun. It was almost as if the trees were festooned with twinkling lights. Buzzards were mewing somewhere within earshot, but I couldn't get a sight of them. Some very bright and bossy greenfinches arrived, and saw off the comparatively ungainly chaffinches; though larger and bulkier, the greenfinches are much more adept at using the feeders.

Squirrels and Honeysuckle

Not quite so cold a day today, and lots of squirrel activity in the garden. This is the height of the mating season for grey squirrels, and mad chases around the garden and up through the trees are the order of the day. The amazing ability of squirrels just to fling themselves across gaps, from branch to branch and up and down our fences always impresses me. The way they manage to break into almost every supposedly squirrel-proof feeder we've ever tried is a little more annoying.

Again we had three robins in the garden this morning, and quite a bit of fighting between them. At one point we had ten rather argumentative blackbirds too, but the most aggressive of our garden birds remains the blackcap. The number of birds visiting our main feeding station is appreciably down, partly because they won't come while there are squirrels there, but at other times mostly I think because of the blackcap which flies at almost anything else that comes near.

Despite these past frosty nights, our honeysuckle is leafing well. Someone told me yesterday that you can find an echo of the distinctive honeysuckle scent in the new leaves, but I haven't tested that yet. It's true of meadowsweet, though, so perhaps honeysuckle is the same. We planted a number of other lonicera species last year, but they aren't developing new leaves as yet.

Bird Table LIfe

Our bird feeders are very busy just now, after a run of cold nights and frosty mornings. The blackcap that arrived a week or so ago is still very much around; he makes his presence felt, too, chasing away any other bird that comes near, even the robin, though he does back off when the nuthatches arrive. We have only the single male blackcap. Previously we've had a pair, as my brother currently does; I wonder if this is a species that pairs for life, like the bullfinches I so enjoy watching?

We have very large numbers of blackbirds just now. Most of those I see are males, and they are constantly chasing each other. Blackbird life seems to consist of an endless sequence of arguments and spats. We briefly had song thrushes about, while there were still berries on our rowan tree, but I hadn't seen one for several weeks until yesterday when one emerged just for a moment from the thick screen of laurel at the back of our ground, only to disappear just as swiftly. So they are around, but I suppose the woodland to the back of us supplies their needs.

This morning we have had three robins in our back garden. Two were engaged in serious dispute, while the third sat quietly by. I imagine therefore that we have a pair forming, and breeding territories are being established. There are large numbers of chaffinches about, some bright greenfinches and goldfinches too (and our two pairs of bullfinches, always visiting as pairs). So far, though, we have not had a repeat of last year's delightful influx of playful and acrobatic siskins, nor have I seen bramblings and redpolls, both of which were around last winter.

Another bird missing at present is the collared dove. We have more woodpigeons than ever, and they too have mating on their mind, to judge from their behaviour (but when is that not true of pigeons?). Looking back through my records, though, it's a good month since we last saw collared doves in the garden, whereas before that they were pretty much a daily presence. The feral pigeons seem also to have moved on - better pickings somewhere else, I suppose.

A Day at the Office

I've had a day at the office today; our small office on the island at Frankwell in Shrewsbury can at times be busy, but some days are very quiet and today was one of them. There were a few calls, some work to do on the computer, a couple of visitors, and not much besides, giving me time to gaze out of the window onto what was probably a nicer day to look at than to be out in. It was still, clear, even hazily sunny at times, but certainly cold. People were huddled and swathed, and hats and scarves were the order of the day.

I enjoy people watching, and, while I love the open country and have no objection to having half a mountain to myself, I'm equally happy to be at large in the town, overhearing disconnected snippets of conversation and watching human behaviour and interaction. From the office window that's a little limited in scope, as I get only a brief glimpse of most of the passers-by - still, it helps while away the time. Some people you see a little more of: there's a cycle shop next door that does good business, and from time to time people have a bit of a wait at the local bus stop. And parents and grandparents pass by to drop off or pick up children attending the nursery two doors down.

Not much to see today, though! Everyone was too wrapped up, and no-one was fooled by the sun into strolling. But at last there is a feel of the day opening out, a sense that spring isn't too far away. That statement may be hostage to fortune; there's scope still for a few weeks of snow and frost.

Meanwhile, my singing friend Paul is putting together a group to meet and read (our own) poems. I hope we get it off the ground. I need to do more writing, and I'd like what I do write to receive kind but honest comment.

Beginnings

February begins, and with it another year of my life. I have never made a big issue of my birthday, though it's always nice to have a birthday greeting or two. So today has just been an ordinary day. The past month has been a hard one, and I've rarely known quite as much in the way of coughs, colds and general queasiness as this winter has brought. In addition, I have been rather depressed to have had no response from the church hierarchy since my pleasant and, I thought at the time, constructive meeting with the archdeacon last autumn. The church has every right and some reason to be cautious at best as regards any future use of me as a minister. If there is no way back into priestly ministry then I would do my best to understand and accept this, though it would be hard to square with the strong sense I continue to have of God's claim upon me and his call to me. I would find it tough were I to be treated according to some formula or set of guidelines rather than as myself - it would feel rather untrue to the gospel principles and run counter to the sense I have of Christ's grace at work within me - but I am pledged to obedience and would be bound to keep to that. But not having heard anything . . . surely, at the very least, common courtesy and the duty of one Christian toward another should require that I receive an answer. No more on this for now.

Instead, a look outwards to what has been a sunny scene today for the most part, but very cold, and staying that way for now. The immediate threat of lots of snow seems to have receded, though, and as the evenings start to gradually open out, the trees to the back of us have been quite loud with birdsong. The male blackcap that arrived the day after the Great Garden Birdwatch continues to be a regular visitor, and is a pugnacious little chap, prepared even to chase the dominant local robin away. Today we have had two pairs of bullfinches, briefly; bullfinches pair for life I believe, and the partners in a pair have a strong bond that is revealed when they come to feed together, the male often standing guard while the female visits the feeder.

Snowdrops are brightly out in many places, and we are beginning to see primroses coming into flower in our hedgerows. The mahonia in our front garden, something of a lifeline for any bees stirred into wakefulness on mild winter days, has now all but finished. Not long, though, until the daffodils begin, and then, suddenly, it all starts over again!

Charles

A poem I'm working on. It may be finished; it's hard to tell . . .

He was sitting on that cracked stone bench beneath the black and broken ash

carefully sticking pins in a voodoo doll, and, as he did do,

chain-smoking his rizla speciality roll-ups of

found and collected tobacco cut with, I don’t know, perhaps the mugwort

we used to smoke experimentally at school.

I wonder if he remembers me from those days; he never speaks,

and nor do I, to my shame perhaps. Not far away

a few anxious starlings strutted and pecked, not caring

to come too close. As much as they part of the park wildlife,

he sucked on his creased and thin smoke, cursed at the grey and spitting sky, and

chose to dig in a pin with unusual fierceness, just as I happened by.

Was it just coincidence that a sudden pain shot through my spine?

And, if so, why the raised eyebrow and half smile, as I glanced across?

He is there on that bench every day, and his doll is always with him,

and the pins are carefully inserted. I wonder who that doll may be? Perhaps anyone who happens

to get too close. Like the starlings, I think it may be best

to keep my distance. Tomorrow, perhaps, I may choose a different path through the park,

and allow the thrust of the pin to be for someone else.

Funerals

I've attended two funerals in recent days in Anglican churches, taken by clergy who in both cases kept fairly closely to the standard funeral liturgy. Both services were well-taken, and with a real sense of empathy and pastoral support for the families and friends involved. Often when the standard service is used it can feel like an exercise in just getting from the beginning to the end; not so in either of these cases (nor, knowing the clergy involved, would I have expected it to be). We can often moan about "having to use the book", and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that these days it can be a breath of fresh air to start with a blank sheet of paper rather than a whole lot of words.  The truth is, though, that the C of E funeral liturgy actually contains a great deal of good stuff . . . as ever, it's how it's used, and the time taken in preparation and as the service progresses, that makes the difference. I think these families will have really felt cared for, nurtured and supported at this sad time for them.

Candlemas

I heard an interesting sermon that touched on the themes of Candlemas today (though the festival itself is a week away yet). What were at one time significant community occasions have now faded into all but insignificance, even within the Church. The great themes of recognition, salvation, and light are really still as important as ever; much modern worship trivialises them (one of the worship songs featured on tonight's "Songs of Praise" was truly awful, and others weren't much better - and this is said by someone who enjoys modern music. I just expect the modern music I sing in church to be at least as good, both lyrically and as a tune, as the music I choose to play in my car. The best is; but there's too much of the other . . . and most of the lyrics have no depth.

I remember organising a Candlemas gallery carol service at Minsterley, with musicians in our minstrel's gallery (normally closed off from the main body of the church by perspex screens, and choir singers below. We used, among others, a traditional Candlemas carol part of which was read out in today's sermon . . . about taking down the old Christmas greenery and putting up the new, greenery that looked forward to spring. Proper carols were songs of the people, set to the best dance tunes of the day, and balancing sincere faith with a subversive attitude toward the structures of the Church (and therefore, in those days, of society). Amen to both sides of that balance.

At the Arddleen Tabernacle plygain a week ago I sang Paul Wigmore's song "Light beyond shadow" to John Dankworth's lovely tune. Today's "Songs of Praise" opened with "Sing of the Lord's Goodness", another hymn with a good jazz feel to it (and a great descant, though that didn't feature today). Now that's what I call faith music . . . that and gallery carols, oh, and - well let's just say a hoorah for good music wherever and whatever it may be. We can do much better than we sometimes do, but it's clear that the devil doesn't have all the best tunes.

Gone From There

A poem I wrote some time ago, that I've looked out in response for a request for original writings on a WWII theme:

It was not a journey undertaken in comfort.  The grey and ancient train

was frequently halted, sometimes standing for hours

in the cold of some remote siding, never picking up speed

even when the line was clear.  There were no occasions

for conversation between passengers;  no eyes would meet,

and no faces would be remembered.

Though the papers, of course, were all correct.

Beyond the grimy windows the air was full of snow,

a white carpet on each station platform, lit by the swinging lamps;

here a sudden clanging bell,

there, briefly glimpsed, a bored boy soldier toying with his gun.

At this stage one did not dare consider the border

and the destination beyond.  It was still too soon

for the risk of believing.

One might pray for people and places left behind

while, as the wheels sang against the dark rails, it was

enough to be moving south;  enough to be gone from there.

January Trees (Haiku)

Black bare bones, they claw 

at the sky in quiet despair,

winter’s victims still.

Hymn for Unity

Some verses based on Psalm 133. The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity began yesterday.

How beautiful a thing

when friends walk hand in hand,

and, unity our common tongue,

as sisters, brothers, stand.

It is the precious balm

anointing Aaron’s head,

the dews of Hermon fresh and sweet

upon Mount Zion shed.

Fulfil your promise, Lord:

your dews of blessing pour,

that we may serve you now as one,

and praise you evermore.

The Rose Remembered

A poem written for a funeral tomorrow :-

Happy were we to see this flower bright,

a rose in bloom, reflecting golden light

from glistening petals angled to the sun;

fresh beauty, with the morning’s dewdrops spun.

In time with evening mists all roses fade,

and though we’re sad to lose the show they’ve made,

the rose remembered in our heart still flowers,

and her sweet fragrance fills the silent hours.

Sunday Talk

A talk I'm giving this morning . . .

Since I ceased being a minister, I’ve still needed to earn a bob or two, and I’ve tried my hand at a number of things, some of which have involved fairly hard physical work. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it. Long ago, having just graduated but not having found a graduate job, I spent a few months working a sand-blasting machine in the production department of a factory making heavy electrical equipment.  It was heavy, tiring and - to be honest - rather boring work, after all, there isn’t much you can do to add interest to a job that involves blasting clean a succession of identical electric components. But, once I’d got to grips with the work, I quite enjoyed my time there, one of the few times in my life when I actually helped make something. As part of a production line I had to keep pace with the speed of the line. To begin with, at least, that was just a bit faster than the speed I could easily manage, but I got better and faster as time went on.

I couldn’t talk much to my workmates except at break times, it was far too noisy, but they weren’t a bad bunch of lads, and though we moaned about the job I think we were secretly quite proud that we could hold our own, keeping pace with the production line and playing our full part in the process.  Everyone seemed determined to do that job well, and not let the side down.  It was a hard working and loyal team, that disproved some of the negative things people sometimes say about the British worker.

I was glad of that loyalty, since I wasn’t much good at the job when I first started.  My first attempts mostly got sent back, with dire warnings about holding up the line.  Some of the others covered for me, and one guy very patiently worked alongside me till I’d properly got the hang of things. Theory and book learning can only get you so far; to really be able to do the job - whatever that job might be - you probably need someone to show you, and to work  alongside you while you learn by just having a go and trying to do it.  I was very glad that our section included some good natural teachers.
I remember from my schooldays that some teachers were miles better than others, even though presumably all my teachers had the appropriate qualifications. To be a good teacher, you need more than just the right certificates.

The recommended Gospel reading for today tells the story of Jesus and Nathaniel. Nathaniel was brought to Jesus by Philip, and he eventually became one of the Twelve; probably he was the same person as Bartholomew who gets a mention in the other Gospels. Nathaniel was looking for a teacher, a good teacher; he had questions he needed answers for; in other words, he was keen to be a disciple; a disciple is simply someone who listens and learns, who sits at the teacher’s feet and follows him along the way. Jesus had called Philip to be a disciple, and Philip was so excited he went straight away to find Nathaniel and tell him all about this great new teacher. Nathaniel, however, was not convinced.

Nathaniel knew that no good teacher would come from somewhere like Nazareth. Nazareth wasn’t a very pure place; it was in the north, in Galilee; here Jews lived alongside many non-Jews, and spoke more Greek than they did Aramaic or Hebrew. Galilee was a long way from the centre, a long hike from the Temple in Jerusalem. A teacher from Galilee couldn’t possibly have the right qualifications. How, despite himself, Nathaniel became convinced, we've heard in that reading from the end of chapter one in St John’s Gospel.

Jesus describes himself to Nathaniel as the ladder connecting earth and heaven, the one who will re-connect man and God. What makes him not just a good teacher but a great teacher, the best, is this: he sees deeply into the heart of us, he knows better than we do ourselves what makes us tick. And so he meets us where we are. We see this again and again in the stories of his encounters with people in the Gospels. We see it also in the experiences and the life stories of men and women who’ve offered themselves to follow him through the centuries.

This isn’t a man who stands high above us and lectures us; Jesus gets alongside us, and he is himself the message he gives us, he is himself our example to follow. And he calls people, all kinds of people. Look at those first twelve, and you might well ask - whay them? Why Nathaniel, or Philip? Why Peter and Andrew and James and John, or any of the others Jesus called?  For the most part these guys weren’t exactly high-fliers.  None of them was already a priest or preacher.  So why them, and why any of us, come to that?  I think another mark of the truly great teacher is that he will see things in us, possibilities and abilities, that we ourselves aren’t aware of. So what does Jesus look for in us, when he calls out and chooses disciples?  What is he looking for and expecting, from his Church?

A friend of mine is about to take up a new and fairly senior job in the Church. Knowing him, he’ll be asking some pretty serious questions of himself, as he prepares for his move.  And I know how eager he is for the prayers of others he prepares for the new ministry to which I'm sure Christ is calling him.  It's not a ministry he’s sought, in fact I think he’s spent most of his ministry doing his best to avoid any sort of promotion.  But I feel sure it’s a ministry he’s right for, and others have prayerfully seen that in him. Reflecting on that, I’m reminded that those first disciples of Jesus were called despite themselves;  and yet at the same time they were called because of themselves.

They weren't themselves the finished article, and if that’s what Jesus wanted he'd have been best looking elsewhere.  When we read the Gospels they don’t come across as the obvious best men for the job.  To be honest, there are times when they come across as a bit of a rabble, prone to arguing among themselves, and not always very bright at grasping what Jesus is really saying to them.

But they were enthusiastic and loyal; they were there when Jesus called, and they had the guts to say yes to him - and that's all Jesus needed of them.  Everything else could follow, so long as the starting point was right;  what Jesus wanted from those first disciples, and what Jesus wants from his Church today, are loyalty, enthusiasm and commitment - qualities he can build with.  Loyalty: loyalty to Jesus and to the message and mission with which he entrusts us;  and loyalty to one another in the work of mission we share. On the first day of this year’s Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, it’s good to remind ourselves that we need to be together, we need to be praying for one another, we need to work to help each other, to support one another, to teach one another, in Jesus’ name. We need to be, not this or that particular sort of Christian, but simply this: disciples, fully focused on our teacher and saviour Jesus, the ladder between earth and heaven, the one who reconnects us to the Father’s love.

Back to sandblasting. I wasn't a natural sandblaster, to be honest I probably wouldn't have got the job without my Dad pulling a string or two.  I think that over the time I was there I actually got quite good at it, but the only reason I got good was that I was part of a good team. Being a Christian disciple is much the same - it’s about being part of a good team, and it’s about helping to make that team work. I've always thought of Jesus as calling us to be both cared-for and carers, learners and instructors, sheep and shepherds.  Like the first disciples Jesus called we’re not the finished article, there’s always new stuff to learn. So we need to be humble and honest, and ready to receive the things we need if we’re to grow and learn and improve;  we need also to be caring and clear sighted, so we can see where other people need our support, help, teaching, guidance, correction.  Disciples belong to Jesus, but they also belong to one another.

One of the wisest things said to me about Church was said not by a teacher or a church leader, but by a young person in one of my confirmation classes:  she wrote, "Church is what happens when people say 'yes' to God."  All the other stuff is incidental, however much we may like it or be moved by it - the buildings, the traditions, the liturgies, the familiar prayers we say and the favourite hymns we sing, robes and pews and stained glass windows:  that's not why we're here.  God says yes to us by sending Jesus as his Messiah:  Church is people saying 'yes' back and following Jesus when he asks us to.  But we can only say 'yes' to Jesus when we’re also saying 'yes' to one another. And disciples who come to learn from Jesus learn how to be teachers themselves, or apostles, the word we use . . . people with things to say, with a message to take out to the world, with love to share and to put into action.

The more we do that, and the better we do that, seeking his help to do that, then the more the Church will grow to be what our Lord calls it and wants it to be - a community committed to mission, and looking for growth.  Of course, knowing what needs doing isn’t the same as knowing how to do it. I was quite clear right from the start about what was needed from me as a sandblaster, but I wasn’t quite so sure about how to do it, until I got some help and teaching. So how shall we do discipleship? Our starting point is being there for each other, and wanting to grow (though for the stick-in-the-muds among us that may carry a bit of a health warning, because things that grow are bound to change when they do so); and prayer has to be our first commitment before we rush into anything else.

I don’t know about you, but my first prayer as a disciple is much the same as maybe those first disciples like Philip and Nathaniel. Why me?  What use can I be?  Those are questions that seem to always recur in my experience:  but whenever I ask them I seem to hear Jesus saying to me: Why not?  Just say yes, and come.

A Winter Walk

My regular "nature notes" column :-

Early in the New Year I spent a clear frosty morning walking one of my favourite local routes: down across the fields below where we live to join the towpath of the Montgomery Canal, then along past Buttington Wharf towards Pool Quay, turning back along the main road and crossing to the stile opposite to join the Offa’s Dyke route across the fields back towards Buttington, then around the back of the new Smithfield before re-joining the canal towpath near the Rhallt and following it back into Welshpool.

It had been a cold night and everywhere sparkled with frost. The canal itself was mostly iced over, but the covering was fairly thin, and absent wherever there was significant water movement. A couple of moorhens paddled away from me as I walked on from Buttington Wharf, their white tail feathers flicking as they did so. Several blackbirds skidded across from my side of the canal to the other, where the trees rising up the bankside seemed alive with birdsong, mostly robins. A wren was prospecting among tangled stems and lead litter; this is a bird that suffers a lot if we have extended periods of hard weather. For the whole of my walk along this section of the canal, there were buzzards mewing overhead.

As I approached the meeting with the main road, a pair of mute swans glided out of the marshy pools opposite and proceeded along the canal in the Welshpool direction. These swans may be mute by name, but though they are certainly a good deal quieter than our winter whooper and Bewick’s swans, they’re not completely silent, and the cob, or male, hissed at me as they paddled past.

The first field I crossed was crisped by the frost and easy walking. Sheep stood and watched me go by. A few crows were among them, pecking at the cold ground or perhaps looking for insect life among the sheep muck. The path gets quite close to the river bank in places. Water birds paddling noisily away downriver were probably goosanders, large sawbilled ducks, though I couldn’t be sure; they moved like them. There were mallard about too, and heron lurched across but didn’t land.

It was a Monday and the market was busy, with the auctioneer in full flow and big trucks standing ready to ferry the animals to such places as Longtown. The path around the back of the market is gravelled but leads into a small area of rough grassland dotted with dead heads of thistles. Finches and tits were active in the overgrown hedge, and there was a noisy crowd of fieldfares in the field on the other side of the railway. I had to climb the gate, which was locked, and waited for ages to cross the busy main road and head back into town. I hadn’t expected to see much more on that last section of my walk, so I was delighted to encounter a busy band of long-tailed tits flitting through bushes on the far side soon after I’d got back onto the towpath, and a pair of goldcrests - really tiny birds - inspecting the branches of an old hawthorn tree near the back of W.R. Davies’ garage. A very enjoyable winter walk.

Extremism

Once again, a letter in my newspaper this morning insists that religion is the cause of pretty much all the world's violence, evil and war. This is untrue and should not go unchallenged. The issue is not religion but extremism, and it would be wrong and dangerous to focus on any one particular area in which extremist forces are at work rather than on that central issue of extremism itself. Extremism in religion is certainly a very real and current danger, but extremism in politics, extremism in culturally or tribally diverse areas, extremism linked to personality cults, extremism fuelled by the gaps between rich and poor, between powerful and powerless, between those who judge unjustly and those who are judged against . . . here is the real problem. Religion becomes an extremist force when those sorts of gaps leave people believing they are denied rights, freedoms, privileges, wealth, that ought to be theirs. Focus on one place where extremists are at work and you miss the point: extremism happens when things are unfair and unequal, and always will, whatever labels get attached to it.

On Morality and Religion

Morality can be defined as "Choosing to do what is right, regardless of what you are told." So if your religion requires you to do what you are told regardless of what is right, then that religion has ceased to be moral and to merit our respect.

The Christian believer may ask, of course,  how we can know for sure what is right, unless God tells us. We have a conscience, but though helpful it is not a sufficient guide (as may be seen from the fact that there is much disagreement over what is moral and what isn't). Israel's history was rarely darker than that time when "everyone did what was right in his own eyes" (Judges 21:25). Rather, "fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man" (Ecclesiastes 12:13). Morality is choosing to do what is right, but what is right is whatever God tells us to do. 

As a committed Christian, for the most part I feel bound to affirm the truth of that statement. Nevertheless, the sad truth is that many evil acts are perpetuated by individuals, groups and organisations who claim the authority of God for what they do. It's clear that, for the believer, God cannot be placed under a higher authority called "morality" - he is himself the source of morality - but there are many voices working on us that would claim to represent God, and scripture itself can be misused and distorted. Radical Islam is one manifestation of this, but only one; churches, and the Church, capital C, have been guilty in their time of acting in ways that do damage and harm to others, and it's hard for me to see that as anything but immoral. I suppose I'm wanting to say that religion and faith are different things, even though, ideally, they coincide?

I think I'm also saying that the Christian should be using as his or her moral reference not the mores of society around, not the words of scripture, not even their own conscience, good guide though that may be, but the person and life and teachings of Jesus, and particularly those two central statements: "Love one another, as I have loved you" and "Let the greatest among you be as the servant of all."

Je Suis Charlie

I am appalled, as many will be, at the news from France today, and attack on the principle of free speech that almost all Europeans will, I am sure, hold dear. Satire is uncomfortable, unpredictable, and sometimes offensive or puerile, but it is part of the process of truth-telling that this blog also seeks to uphold. Therefore . . .

Resolutions

Time again for some New Year thoughts. Many people I know are having a dry January - that's definitely not for me (but then again, I'm not a big drinker, so what would be the point?). I don't do New Year resolutions to start on New Year's Day itself; there's too much Christmas food left in the house for one thing, and this year NYD was still four days away from the "normality restart" on Monday 5th tomorrow. Best to be realistic, and aim to start any serious resolutions then!

But this year, nothing too grand. I do need to eat more sensibly, and I do need to make sure my diary includes "Ann and me" time (and also "taking the Mums out somewhere interesting" time). My existing rule of life covers most other things, for example reading, study and prayer. Sometime this month or early next I shall be sitting down with Nick, my spiritual director, to have a serious look at that. Ideally, resolutions and rules of life should be stretching but doable. There's no point in aiming so high you always fail, that only leads to depression and giving up; equally, where's the gain in aiming so low that keeping the rule is easy - that won't change me for the better, but it might make me smug and self-satisfied which would be a change for the worse.

But resolutions and rules should also be appropriate: what are the things in me that need changing, and what's the best way to make that change happen? - that needs to be my starting point. Some of last year's resolutions may no longer be appropriate, even those I haven't managed to keep up with, And my rule of life, many seasons old by now, may not quite fit properly with my present responsibilities and life style.  There is work to be done, but that work is worthwhile.

Epiphany

Some words for this weekend . . .

Every year has its significant anniversaries - for example, one of the many special ones this year will be the 800th anniversary of Magna Carta, signed at Runnymede in 1215. It’s also 200 years since Waterloo, 150 years since the abolition of slavery in the United States, and 25 years since the release of Nelson Mandela from prison on Robben Island. All these anniversaries seem to me to connect to the theme of human freedom: Magna Carta began the slow process towards suffrage and democracy in this country, Waterloo brought to an end the imperialist aspirations of Napoleon Bonaparte, and, well, I hardly need to comment on the ending of slavery. The slave trade had in fact ended more than fifty years earlier, and at least by 1865 it was no longer true that thousands of people (in fact, millions in total) were being taken across the ocean from one continent to another, and from freedom into complete ownership, to be bought and sold like any other possession. But those who were slaves, and their children and grandchildren, remained slaves, until the Civil War, and Lincoln, and Gettysburg.

Some years ago I spent time researching the slave trade, and one of the things that surprised and disturbed me was that to begin with, the Church saw no reason to oppose the trade. Of course, there are slaves in the Bible.  The mission Society I used to work for had at one time itself owned slaves, in Barbados, having inherited them with an estate there.  It did understand that bringing education and Christian faith to slaves was something it should be doing, but it didn’t see that that should mean they ceased to be slaves. Indeed, it was argued that they would become better and more obedient slaves if they became Christians. Doesn’t Paul tell slaves that they should in all things obey their masters? But in fact educating slaves and teaching them the faith would begin the process that would in time be bound to lead to their liberation.

I thought to mention that this morning because I think it's relevant to the theme of Epiphany. Throughout the ages of Christian history, and particularly in the great mission campaigns of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, people did what they did because the Gospel message must be shared across every kind of human boundary: national, cultural, linguistic - even the boundary between freedom and slavery.

And yet Jesus was born and raised a Jew, and for his disciples he called fellow Jews;  he taught in Jewish places, in the synagogues and the temple.  And though he was critical of some of his fellow Jews, the Pharisees for example, he never spoke against the faith itself, only the ways in which the faith was being distorted or misused. The prophecy which states that the Messiah should be born in Bethlehem also says that he is to 'rule over Israel', and when wise men came from the east following their reading of the stars, the question they asked was 'Where is he who has been born King of the Jews?'

So we know where Jesus belongs, in time and place and culture.  Why then didn’t he stay there?  It’s not the birth of Jesus but his death that brought his disciples to say 'What this man has done is good news for all the world.' But still, we read in the Gospel of Matthew that soon after the birth of Jesus men came from the east - sometimes we call them kings, or else magi, wise men. But anyway, they were not Jews. When he is first born Jesus is revealed to shepherds on the hills, maybe not the expected audience for angels, but Jews of a kind at least. Jewish scribes at Herod’s court knew that something was going to happen in Bethlehem, even if they didn’t know quite what or when. But the Messiah is revealed also to strangers  outside the faith and away to the east, and in this we’re given a sign that the new thing God is doing will change not just the history of the Jews but the destiny of the world.

And this is confirmed in the symbols the strangers present: gold, frankincense and myrrh.  Gold is obvious enough - the child is a king, and gold is a king's coinage. He has kingly authority and power, and the right to rule the nations, even though his route to a throne is very different from the one Herod might have expected him to take.  Frankincense is also fair enough, for there’s something priestly about kingship, which is why monarchs are anointed when they’re crowned. Kings like priests stand between the people and God, and between God and the people, and their role is to be a bridge.  One word for priest is pontifex, literally bridge builder or bridge maker.  Jesus will rebuild the bridges we’ve broken, as the greatest of all high priests.

But for me a chill falls across the proceedings when the myrrh is unwrapped. In my home church choir long ago we used to sing the verses of ‘We Three Kings’ as solos, and this was always my verse, and never an easy thing, because myrrh is costly and special, but it’s the stuff of death.  'He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant,' wrote St Paul. For Jesus, this was the only true way to be a king and a priest. He would not grab at status or power, but would let it go.  The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews tells us that this man is both the perfect priest, and the perfect sacrifice.  He is the only one worthy to make the offering, and he is the only one worthy to be offered, for the sins of the people: the Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep - who dies that we might live.

These symbols have power and resonance in every culture;  but myrrh especially expresses what crosses human boundaries: a self-giving love to break into every heart;  and the God who places no limits on love, and who loves even the most wayward of his children.

And wherever it may be, and whatever it may look like I believe the Church that bears this child's name should be presenting gold, frankincense and myrrh.  The gold of our own kingship: Jesus shares his royal authority with us, the secret of his throne.  'Let the one who would be greatest among you become the servant of all.'  Wherever the Church is a servant Church it is claiming and expressing the kingship of Christ.

The frankincense of our shared priesthood:  every Christian is called to speak of God to the world, and to speak for the world to God: in other words, to preach and to pray.  And this is the work of the priest;  Peter says we are a kingdom of priests.

And myrrh? Myrrh tells of the way we are joined to the death of Christ in our baptism, dying with him so that we may also rise with him, so that we may share in his risen life and in the new wine of his Holy Spirit.  There has to be a dying, a laying down of the old things, for the rebirth to happen that is Christ in us.  'Lord, you only will I serve;  you are Lord of all my life.'  We never do manage this, always keeping something back, but where the Church is really striving to be filled with the Spirit of Christ, where it’s trying to empty away its own desire for status or standing, then it offers a witness to the death of Christ, and to his risen life.

And the wonderful thing is that the Church is doing all these things in all kinds of places, in African places and Asian places and South American places.  In Sierra Leone, as the Church plays its part in combating ebola. On the streets of Calcutta or Manila, where Christian workers provide shelter and support for the homeless. In the shanty towns of Peru and Brazil where base Christian communities of the very poorest are opposing drugs and crime and supporting families.

Another special anniversary this year is that it’s 150 years since the foundation of the Salvation Army, which brought onto the streets of our land and indeed the streets of much of the world a new Christian force for good, reaching out in Christ’s name to those whose plight was and is most desperate, those who are often overlooked, those whom other people just walk past. Why? Because these are people Jesus cares for, people he wouldn’t have walked past; these are people for whom he died.

The wise men were right to identify the birth of this new king as a very special birth, and to make the journey they made to lay gifts before the child. For the love of this child can transform every human heart, he is God's gift in love to the world he never can stop loving. There is much in our world today that is unfair and nasty and spoilt; it would be easy to give up on hope and to expect very little from life. But we know as Christians that God loves us, and loves our world, even as we are, even as it is, in all its ugliness; we know too that he loves it too much to leave it that way. The love born in Bethlehem still shines, even in the very darkest places, and thank God it does, and thank God for the lives his Son continues to inspire and transform.  May our hearts too receive the love of the Christ child, and may our lives too transmit it and proclaim it in the world.