Audio file here
https://soundcloud.com/anne-le-bas/patronal-festival-sermon-june-27
Sunday, 27 June 2021
Sunday, 20 June 2021
Do you not care? Trinity 3
Trinity 3 2021
Job 38.1-11, Psalm107.1-3,23-32, Mark 4.35-end
“Wake up and help us bale
out!” would be much more appropriate.
In a situation of danger, this isn’t a sensible time to launch into a discussion
about Jesus’ feelings for his disciples.
But this Gospel story isn’t a
chapter in a sailing manual, any more than those movies are about buildings,
volcanoes or bomb disposal techniques. They are about human beings, human
hearts, how we relate to one another and, in this case, to God. The disaster, the
crisis, is just being used to reveal what’s happening under the surface.
Everything had seemed fine
when the disciples first set out on their voyage. Jesus was exhausted after a
long day preaching. His friends probably encouraged him to go to sleep. After
all, many of them were experienced fishermen. They’d been sailing these waters
all their lives. They knew how to handle a boat, and maybe they felt proud that
they could do something for their friend at last, rather than just following
him around asking dumb questions. “You get your head down, Jesus. We’ve got
this!”
But as the storm worsens,
they realise that they haven’t got it after all. They may have always coped
before, but they can’t cope now. They remember just how dangerous this lake is.
People drown here all the time, and tonight it looks like it’s their turn. But
Jesus is still asleep. On a cushion, we’re told, as if to rub in just how
comfortable he is, while they struggle on, terrified and alone.
Suddenly they realise that
they do need him, not for any sailing expertise he might have, but for himself.
They need him to see their plight, to hear their cries, and most of all, to
care. Even if they’re going to sink, they’d rather sink knowing they are loved,
than feeling abandoned.
It’s the same for Job, in our
Old Testament reading. The book of Job tells a story which is probably based on
an existing Middle Eastern folk tale, but transformed into an extended
meditation on suffering and how we deal with it. Job is a righteous and
successful man, but suddenly his life hits the rocks. His children all die, his
flocks are stolen, his house falls down, and he himself is afflicted with
dreadful diseases. But why? And what will he do about it? Will he reject God?
His so-called friends come and
offer well-meaning advice, but it turns out to be useless, and sometimes
offensively damaging. It really must be his fault, they tell him. Everything
happens for a reason, they tell him. He must have done something wrong, even if
no one, including him, knows what it is… But Job stands his ground. He may not
be perfect, but he’s a good man and he doesn’t deserve this.
But that doesn’t mean he’s ok
with what is happening. He rails at God, and demands that God explain himself,
and eventually, in the passage we heard, God does. His explanation might not
sound very satisfactory – basically that God is God, and Job is not – but it’s
the only explanation that Job is going to be able to grasp. We are all stuck in the moment, only seeing a
tiny sliver of reality, a tiny slice of time. Bad things do happen to good
people, and good things to bad, and it doesn’t seem fair, because it isn’t
fair. But that doesn’t mean that God’s punishing us, or that what is, always
will be.
That’s enough for Job, and as
the story ends, his fortunes are restored - and we like to hope his friends
have learned a lesson. It’s always tempting to try to explain away messy and
perplexing situations, as they do, however far-fetched our explanations are.
It’s always tempting to try to do something – anything - rather than accepting
that there’s nothing we can do, even if we make things worse in the process. It
gives us the illusion of being in control. That’s how superstitions start. Avoiding
black cats or touching wood won’t keep us safe, because life is inherently
dangerous, and ultimately always ends in death, but faced with that terrifying
reality, we’ll seize at anything that
might convince us we have some power. Even blaming ourselves is easier than
accepting that there is no way we can avoid it.
Ultimately, as Job discovers,
what gets us through difficult times, whether we live or die, succeed or fail in
worldly terms, is knowing we aren’t alone, that someone sees us, hears us and
cares for us. God, the creator of the universe, turns up to talk to Job, and
even if he didn’t understand any more at the end than at the beginning, he
knows he matters enough to God for him to do this.
The poet Raymond Carver, who
struggled most of his life with alcoholism, which caused immense pain to him and
those around him, eventually managed to stop drinking and find some measure of
peace and wholeness late in his short life - he died at the age of 50. But the
epitaph he wrote for his gravestone, the final poem, Late Fragment, in his
final collection, says this.
And did you get what
you wanted from this life,
even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to
feel myself
beloved on the earth.
Over this past year or so,
we’ve all been discovering what we’ve “wanted from this life”, what
really matters to us, and how we cope in the face of trouble. We’ve realised
the value of the little things we once took for granted, the touch of a hand, a
shared song, the presence of friends and family, things which help us to
“feel ourselves beloved on the earth”.
Many people have found
themselves reaching out for strength beyond their own, too. Like the disciples
in that storm-tossed boat, we now know, even if we didn’t before, that we can’t
do this alone. People have connected with churches, including this one, in much
larger numbers than before, looking for sustenance, comfort and a sense of
belonging, and some at least have found what they were looking for. I don’t
know what will happen when the pandemic is over, what sort of ‘normal’ we will
find ourselves in, but I hope we’ll remember the raging of this storm, and the
moments when we cried out to God “don’t you care that we are perishing?”,
and the moments, even if they were just moments, when we heard his voice replying
“peace, be still,” in the depths of our hearts, in the words of the
Bible, in the glory of nature, in the kindness of others, in new discoveries
about ourselves. Because the good news is that the God who’s with us in the
storms is with us always, calling us to discover life in all its fulness in the
good times as well as the bad.
Amen
Do you not care? Trinity 3
Trinity 3 2021
Job 38.1-11, Psalm107.1-3,23-32, Mark 4.35-end
“Wake up and help us bale
out!” would be much more appropriate.
In a situation of danger, this isn’t a sensible time to launch into a discussion
about Jesus’ feelings for his disciples.
But this Gospel story isn’t a
chapter in a sailing manual, any more than those movies are about buildings,
volcanoes or bomb disposal techniques. They are about human beings, human
hearts, how we relate to one another and, in this case, to God. The disaster, the
crisis, is just being used to reveal what’s happening under the surface.
Everything had seemed fine
when the disciples first set out on their voyage. Jesus was exhausted after a
long day preaching. His friends probably encouraged him to go to sleep. After
all, many of them were experienced fishermen. They’d been sailing these waters
all their lives. They knew how to handle a boat, and maybe they felt proud that
they could do something for their friend at last, rather than just following
him around asking dumb questions. “You get your head down, Jesus. We’ve got
this!”
But as the storm worsens,
they realise that they haven’t got it after all. They may have always coped
before, but they can’t cope now. They remember just how dangerous this lake is.
People drown here all the time, and tonight it looks like it’s their turn. But
Jesus is still asleep. On a cushion, we’re told, as if to rub in just how
comfortable he is, while they struggle on, terrified and alone.
Suddenly they realise that
they do need him, not for any sailing expertise he might have, but for himself.
They need him to see their plight, to hear their cries, and most of all, to
care. Even if they’re going to sink, they’d rather sink knowing they are loved,
than feeling abandoned.
It’s the same for Job, in our
Old Testament reading. The book of Job tells a story which is probably based on
an existing Middle Eastern folk tale, but transformed into an extended
meditation on suffering and how we deal with it. Job is a righteous and
successful man, but suddenly his life hits the rocks. His children all die, his
flocks are stolen, his house falls down, and he himself is afflicted with
dreadful diseases. But why? And what will he do about it? Will he reject God?
His so-called friends come and
offer well-meaning advice, but it turns out to be useless, and sometimes
offensively damaging. It really must be his fault, they tell him. Everything
happens for a reason, they tell him. He must have done something wrong, even if
no one, including him, knows what it is… But Job stands his ground. He may not
be perfect, but he’s a good man and he doesn’t deserve this.
But that doesn’t mean he’s ok
with what is happening. He rails at God, and demands that God explain himself,
and eventually, in the passage we heard, God does. His explanation might not
sound very satisfactory – basically that God is God, and Job is not – but it’s
the only explanation that Job is going to be able to grasp. We are all stuck in the moment, only seeing a
tiny sliver of reality, a tiny slice of time. Bad things do happen to good
people, and good things to bad, and it doesn’t seem fair, because it isn’t
fair. But that doesn’t mean that God’s punishing us, or that what is, always
will be.
That’s enough for Job, and as
the story ends, his fortunes are restored - and we like to hope his friends
have learned a lesson. It’s always tempting to try to explain away messy and
perplexing situations, as they do, however far-fetched our explanations are.
It’s always tempting to try to do something – anything - rather than accepting
that there’s nothing we can do, even if we make things worse in the process. It
gives us the illusion of being in control. That’s how superstitions start. Avoiding
black cats or touching wood won’t keep us safe, because life is inherently
dangerous, and ultimately always ends in death, but faced with that terrifying
reality, we’ll seize at anything that
might convince us we have some power. Even blaming ourselves is easier than
accepting that there is no way we can avoid it.
Ultimately, as Job discovers,
what gets us through difficult times, whether we live or die, succeed or fail in
worldly terms, is knowing we aren’t alone, that someone sees us, hears us and
cares for us. God, the creator of the universe, turns up to talk to Job, and
even if he didn’t understand any more at the end than at the beginning, he
knows he matters enough to God for him to do this.
The poet Raymond Carver, who
struggled most of his life with alcoholism, which caused immense pain to him and
those around him, eventually managed to stop drinking and find some measure of
peace and wholeness late in his short life - he died at the age of 50. But the
epitaph he wrote for his gravestone, the final poem, Late Fragment, in his
final collection, says this.
And did you get what
you wanted from this life,
even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to
feel myself
beloved on the earth.
Over this past year or so,
we’ve all been discovering what we’ve “wanted from this life”, what
really matters to us, and how we cope in the face of trouble. We’ve realised
the value of the little things we once took for granted, the touch of a hand, a
shared song, the presence of friends and family, things which help us to
“feel ourselves beloved on the earth”.
Many people have found
themselves reaching out for strength beyond their own, too. Like the disciples
in that storm-tossed boat, we now know, even if we didn’t before, that we can’t
do this alone. People have connected with churches, including this one, in much
larger numbers than before, looking for sustenance, comfort and a sense of
belonging, and some at least have found what they were looking for. I don’t
know what will happen when the pandemic is over, what sort of ‘normal’ we will
find ourselves in, but I hope we’ll remember the raging of this storm, and the
moments when we cried out to God “don’t you care that we are perishing?”,
and the moments, even if they were just moments, when we heard his voice replying
“peace, be still,” in the depths of our hearts, in the words of the
Bible, in the glory of nature, in the kindness of others, in new discoveries
about ourselves. Because the good news is that the God who’s with us in the
storms is with us always, calling us to discover life in all its fulness in the
good times as well as the bad.
Amen
Sunday, 13 June 2021
Small things Trinity 2
Trinity 2 2021 – A sermon by Kevin Bright
Ezekiel
17.22-24 , Mark 4.26-34
You might judge
what I’m about to say as a bunch of random thoughts about parables, stories,
context and stuff spoken around, rather than about, because it’s too hard to fathom.
If you were
hoping for a neat explanation of how parables work feel free to switch off now.
Oh, and for me the readings made me think about how we actually hear and take
stuff in as well as whether we are actually listening to each other at all!
A
woman walks into a bar after a hard work shift on a hot day, orders that cold
beer she’s been thinking about for the last hour, hands over her cash and downs
it there and then.
That
would have been a perfectly reasonable little introduction a couple of years
ago but anyone who has bothered to buy a pint recently knows that it doesn’t
work like that anymore.
A
man makes a booking two days in advance, walks up to a bar wearing a mask,
scans the QR code, enters his details for track and trace, sits at his
designated table and orders a pint of beer using an app on his mobile device
citing his table number, is served on a tray by someone wearing gloves and a
mask and he pays via contactless card! It’s so dull that you’ve already given
up waiting to hear what follows.
The
point of this isn’t to illustrate why our pubs are struggling but just how in a
short period of time people hearing a story either can immediately relate to it
or have to use their imagination a bit because it’s not their immediate reality.
Anyone aged about 19 and a quarter hasn’t (or shouldn’t have) known anything
different.
We
heard the ‘Parable of the Mustard Seed’ and how ‘with many such
parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he
did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in
private to his disciples.’
Because
many who heard his parables made their living from farming or fishing it is no
coincidence that aspects of the natural world arise. God’s kingdom in its
entirety would be too much for us, literally mind blowing so Jesus gives us
parables to demonstrate aspects of the kingdom that we can relate to from everyday
experiences.
Parables
have the potential to help us discover the truth for ourselves rather than
simply being told that something is factual and that we should believe it. They
might open the new eyes needed to discover a reality beyond the immediate and
obvious and are worthy of our attention. They can also easily be dismissed as
irrelevant or too obtuse to wrestle with.
Parables
were often told in a way that would particularly resonate with the needs, even
yearnings of those hearing them, yet in a way that wasn’t too much to bear in
one go.
There’s
a cheerful sense of mischievousness to the way many parables start. It’s often
not what people are expecting to hear, perhaps a bit like some comedians engage
you by saying something ridiculous like a horse walked into a bar…it’s not so
much that people listening to Jesus expected a joke but they were hooked
initially to the extent that they wanted to know how the parable would end,
even if they were sometimes left puzzled.
‘The kingdom of God is as if someone would
scatter seed on the ground’, what?
Is it too much of a leap to expect those
listening to think about a seed time for God’s harvest? Perhaps there might not
be much to see yet but keep the faith because God is at work.
It’s also like a tiny mustard seed, did those
hearing think - is this guy for real, I’ve got to hear where he goes with this.
Apparently
black mustard grows wild in the Jordan river valley to the height at which a
person on horseback can stop under it for shade. Of course when you hold its
tiny seed in your hand it can be a leap of imagination to believe in its
potential. Yet this tiny seed held similarities to the kingdom of God according
to Jesus.
Those hearing of a small
seed could have found resonance with Ezekiel’s times of suffering in exile . In
both cases God talks of taking action to provide shade and shelter, a refuge in
God.
Here’s
a big question. With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what would help
us explore it?
Imagine
yourself among hundreds gathered to hear Jesus talk as he says the kingdom of
God is like an acorn that grew to become a mighty oak. I bet like me some of
you have got oak seedlings which are just a few inches in height, we can walk
on them without even noticing at times yet given the right environment they can
grow to around 100 ft tall.
The
kingdom of God packs as much power as one of those chilli seeds you touch when
preparing a meal, small and insignificant you can even forget about them for a
while, and then you rub your eye!
It
seems likely that Jesus is challenging his listeners to explore a parallel to
his own situation. One man in Galilee isn’t exactly the kingdom of God type
change that people were expecting. How could God bring the change needed from
such apparently tiny resources? Jesus wants the people hearing him to consider
how different the kingdom of God is to their experience of a kingdom where the
powerful rule unjustly.
There are aspects about
our lives, God included, that only make sense in parables or non-factual
descriptions. No one has ever bottled love, given it a scientific formula or
defined it in words. Yet we make songs, films, stories about it that help us
absorb its reality. We witness great courage and sacrifice motivated by love
that help us feel its power.
Parables are often
thrown in alongside a situation or a problem but not as the neat direct
solution which we often crave. Perhaps they run parallel in a way that we need
to cross over to explore yet there is no logic which can unlock their meaning
absolutely. Its all part of their intrigue, not a code to be cracked but something
to be felt, not something that will always reveal itself in a timescale we find
acceptable. Parables can be frustrating, painful, enlightening and delightful.
What
if we were trying to tell someone how we think God wants us to live, what it
would be like to have heaven on earth where might we begin? Perhaps by
listening to each other, perhaps by being open to multiple ways of discovering
this truth.
I was walking by the River Thames on Friday
and there was bunch of guys listening to urban poetry on a big speaker like the
one Philip wheels out to accompany our hymns. It’s an interesting thought that
they were determined to share this with all passers-by within a few hundred
yards. When I say urban poetry, they would call it rap but it’s still just
issues they can relate to in a format they find acceptable. Whilst I didn’t
raise this with them I thought that it could do with a few less expletives but
the poetry was actually superb and I slowed down my walk to listen a bit
longer.
There I am, one of those people who pretends
not to listen but actually is drinking it in. We can be sure that whenever
anyone talks about God there’s always some like this.
A lot of us would give their material a wide
berth yet there’s a creative sense of lament about a lot of life’s sadness and
problems if anyone can be bothered to listen. One of Eminem’s collaborations
with Ed Sheeran speaks of moving from the darkness pain and regrets of the past
leading to rivers of tears…
Been a lover, been a cheat
All my sins need holy
water, feel it washing over me
Well little one I don’t
want to admit to something
If all it’s gonna cause is
pain
Truth and lies right now
are falling like the rain
So let the river run
Jesus
gave us a hint of how to get people intrigued enough to explore further.
Perhaps a bit of a hook, an opening line might get their attention.
The opening line in Norman
MacLean’s book, ‘A River Runs Through It’ is…
‘In our family, there was
no clear line between religion and fly-fishing.’
People will quickly find their own twist on the fly-fishing
part, whatever their passion is football, music, cooking, or you never know
they might actually be obsessed with fly fishing.
The hard way in would be telling them in a
believable way that if they really knew what the kingdom of God was like that
their other passion might be put in perspective. But what if they were to start
by recognising God in the very things already most important to them?
It may be unrealistic think that we can find
ways to give everyone a hook or a theme that resonates for them as a route to
ponder God’s kingdom. Once the words have left our mouths we have no further
control over how they fall upon people’s ears.
Yet we’re all here or listening on a Podcast
because we are people who want to know the kingdom of God. Like those hearing
Jesus’ parables it might prove beneficial to consider how we find creative and
surprising ways to explore this in a deeper sense.
Just in case we need reminding, it’s OK to
start with something really small.
Amen
Small things Trinity 2
Trinity 2 2021 – A sermon by Kevin Bright
Ezekiel
17.22-24 , Mark 4.26-34
You might judge
what I’m about to say as a bunch of random thoughts about parables, stories,
context and stuff spoken around, rather than about, because it’s too hard to fathom.
If you were
hoping for a neat explanation of how parables work feel free to switch off now.
Oh, and for me the readings made me think about how we actually hear and take
stuff in as well as whether we are actually listening to each other at all!
A
woman walks into a bar after a hard work shift on a hot day, orders that cold
beer she’s been thinking about for the last hour, hands over her cash and downs
it there and then.
That
would have been a perfectly reasonable little introduction a couple of years
ago but anyone who has bothered to buy a pint recently knows that it doesn’t
work like that anymore.
A
man makes a booking two days in advance, walks up to a bar wearing a mask,
scans the QR code, enters his details for track and trace, sits at his
designated table and orders a pint of beer using an app on his mobile device
citing his table number, is served on a tray by someone wearing gloves and a
mask and he pays via contactless card! It’s so dull that you’ve already given
up waiting to hear what follows.
The
point of this isn’t to illustrate why our pubs are struggling but just how in a
short period of time people hearing a story either can immediately relate to it
or have to use their imagination a bit because it’s not their immediate reality.
Anyone aged about 19 and a quarter hasn’t (or shouldn’t have) known anything
different.
We
heard the ‘Parable of the Mustard Seed’ and how ‘with many such
parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he
did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in
private to his disciples.’
Because
many who heard his parables made their living from farming or fishing it is no
coincidence that aspects of the natural world arise. God’s kingdom in its
entirety would be too much for us, literally mind blowing so Jesus gives us
parables to demonstrate aspects of the kingdom that we can relate to from everyday
experiences.
Parables
have the potential to help us discover the truth for ourselves rather than
simply being told that something is factual and that we should believe it. They
might open the new eyes needed to discover a reality beyond the immediate and
obvious and are worthy of our attention. They can also easily be dismissed as
irrelevant or too obtuse to wrestle with.
Parables
were often told in a way that would particularly resonate with the needs, even
yearnings of those hearing them, yet in a way that wasn’t too much to bear in
one go.
There’s
a cheerful sense of mischievousness to the way many parables start. It’s often
not what people are expecting to hear, perhaps a bit like some comedians engage
you by saying something ridiculous like a horse walked into a bar…it’s not so
much that people listening to Jesus expected a joke but they were hooked
initially to the extent that they wanted to know how the parable would end,
even if they were sometimes left puzzled.
‘The kingdom of God is as if someone would
scatter seed on the ground’, what?
Is it too much of a leap to expect those
listening to think about a seed time for God’s harvest? Perhaps there might not
be much to see yet but keep the faith because God is at work.
It’s also like a tiny mustard seed, did those
hearing think - is this guy for real, I’ve got to hear where he goes with this.
Apparently
black mustard grows wild in the Jordan river valley to the height at which a
person on horseback can stop under it for shade. Of course when you hold its
tiny seed in your hand it can be a leap of imagination to believe in its
potential. Yet this tiny seed held similarities to the kingdom of God according
to Jesus.
Those hearing of a small
seed could have found resonance with Ezekiel’s times of suffering in exile . In
both cases God talks of taking action to provide shade and shelter, a refuge in
God.
Here’s
a big question. With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what would help
us explore it?
Imagine
yourself among hundreds gathered to hear Jesus talk as he says the kingdom of
God is like an acorn that grew to become a mighty oak. I bet like me some of
you have got oak seedlings which are just a few inches in height, we can walk
on them without even noticing at times yet given the right environment they can
grow to around 100 ft tall.
The
kingdom of God packs as much power as one of those chilli seeds you touch when
preparing a meal, small and insignificant you can even forget about them for a
while, and then you rub your eye!
It
seems likely that Jesus is challenging his listeners to explore a parallel to
his own situation. One man in Galilee isn’t exactly the kingdom of God type
change that people were expecting. How could God bring the change needed from
such apparently tiny resources? Jesus wants the people hearing him to consider
how different the kingdom of God is to their experience of a kingdom where the
powerful rule unjustly.
There are aspects about
our lives, God included, that only make sense in parables or non-factual
descriptions. No one has ever bottled love, given it a scientific formula or
defined it in words. Yet we make songs, films, stories about it that help us
absorb its reality. We witness great courage and sacrifice motivated by love
that help us feel its power.
Parables are often
thrown in alongside a situation or a problem but not as the neat direct
solution which we often crave. Perhaps they run parallel in a way that we need
to cross over to explore yet there is no logic which can unlock their meaning
absolutely. Its all part of their intrigue, not a code to be cracked but something
to be felt, not something that will always reveal itself in a timescale we find
acceptable. Parables can be frustrating, painful, enlightening and delightful.
What
if we were trying to tell someone how we think God wants us to live, what it
would be like to have heaven on earth where might we begin? Perhaps by
listening to each other, perhaps by being open to multiple ways of discovering
this truth.
I was walking by the River Thames on Friday
and there was bunch of guys listening to urban poetry on a big speaker like the
one Philip wheels out to accompany our hymns. It’s an interesting thought that
they were determined to share this with all passers-by within a few hundred
yards. When I say urban poetry, they would call it rap but it’s still just
issues they can relate to in a format they find acceptable. Whilst I didn’t
raise this with them I thought that it could do with a few less expletives but
the poetry was actually superb and I slowed down my walk to listen a bit
longer.
There I am, one of those people who pretends
not to listen but actually is drinking it in. We can be sure that whenever
anyone talks about God there’s always some like this.
A lot of us would give their material a wide
berth yet there’s a creative sense of lament about a lot of life’s sadness and
problems if anyone can be bothered to listen. One of Eminem’s collaborations
with Ed Sheeran speaks of moving from the darkness pain and regrets of the past
leading to rivers of tears…
Been a lover, been a cheat
All my sins need holy
water, feel it washing over me
Well little one I don’t
want to admit to something
If all it’s gonna cause is
pain
Truth and lies right now
are falling like the rain
So let the river run
Jesus
gave us a hint of how to get people intrigued enough to explore further.
Perhaps a bit of a hook, an opening line might get their attention.
The opening line in Norman
MacLean’s book, ‘A River Runs Through It’ is…
‘In our family, there was
no clear line between religion and fly-fishing.’
People will quickly find their own twist on the fly-fishing
part, whatever their passion is football, music, cooking, or you never know
they might actually be obsessed with fly fishing.
The hard way in would be telling them in a
believable way that if they really knew what the kingdom of God was like that
their other passion might be put in perspective. But what if they were to start
by recognising God in the very things already most important to them?
It may be unrealistic think that we can find
ways to give everyone a hook or a theme that resonates for them as a route to
ponder God’s kingdom. Once the words have left our mouths we have no further
control over how they fall upon people’s ears.
Yet we’re all here or listening on a Podcast
because we are people who want to know the kingdom of God. Like those hearing
Jesus’ parables it might prove beneficial to consider how we find creative and
surprising ways to explore this in a deeper sense.
Just in case we need reminding, it’s OK to
start with something really small.
Amen
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