history - remembered and made

remembrance day, 2014

i stood on the steps outside the house for a minute silence. 
cars and trucks carried on as normal on canterbury road;

... but the wind carried the sound of the Last Post on a bugle from somewhere. 

sometimes the wind carries memories to us like faint notes of a song - incomplete, but recognisable enough that it stirs a memory, a picture in our minds, an emotion in our hearts, a tear in our eye. 

then a deep breath - as if i inhale the memory - and i turn back to my everyday, hoping that what i do makes a difference to others, ... hoping that in my everyday i might make history rather than just repeat it

Finding Saints (From All Saints Day)

In April 1974, two missionary nurses were kidnapped in south Thailand. They had been working with people suffering leprosy - suffering both the skin disease and the social isolation. They worked with people whose hope was low, people who could not experience a loving touch from another human being, people who were told that they were outcasts and human trash.  These nurses bound their wounds, gave a gentle caring touch, and were able to restore some measure of hope and healing to those broken hearts. When they returned to New Zealand every few years, they would talk of what they had seen and done - how diseased people had been restored to families, how their eyes lit up when they were addressed directly, how their feet were bathed with gentle hands, and how they had expressed increasing desire to know more about this Jesus Christ about whom these nurses spoke - one who also had touched lepers and had spoken of a God who cared for the least - and had suffered and was killed - and was raised to life. 

But as I said, in April 1974 they were abducted at gunpoint.  One of these was Minka Hanskamp - my aunt.

Almost a year later, in March 1975, my father received news that the remains of his sister and her friend had been found in a shallow grave. They had both been shot through the back of the head.

Saints come in many forms, and for me these two women come to my mind.  For those of us who knew them, these women were saints before they died - people who touched the untouchable, and loved the unlovable, and opened the possibility of God’s love and hope to those who were loveless and hopeless.

Lawrence Stookey says this… “commemorating the saints is nothing other than a way of affirming that the transformative power of Christ is at work all about us in human lives…We are saints because God’s sanctity is at work in us, not because on our own we have come to great spiritual attainment.” 

Saints create a sense of expectation - of a future that is possible. It is probably best expressed in the song "When the Saints"

"Oh when the saints go marching in

When the saints go marching in

Oh Lord I want to be in that number

When the saints go marching in.

This was written by African Americans as a song of expectation and hope. While we may sing it as a ditty, for them it is a powerful reminder of their hope in God in the midst of their struggles, and more importantly, in their future. As with many of these songs, it is also a protest

Two of the verses include

“Oh when the rich go out and work,

Oh when the rich go out and work,

Oh Lord I want to be in that number

when the saints go marching in."  

“When our leaders learn to cry,

oh when our leaders learn to cry,

Oh Lord I want to be in that number

when the saints go marching in.

One can feel the hope, the expectation, the passionate desire and expectation for the world to be right and justice to be done.  This is a vision of comfort and hope and possibility.  It is the comfort expressed in "wanting to be part of that number”.

Saints - among us and going ahead. Exciting faith, acting for hope in our world; and inviting us to join them.

Liminality and voting

Liminality: “Occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold."

This is a strange moment of identity crisis for me.

I’m a kiwi living in Australia. I still measure my current Aussie experience in months, not years; like a toddler - 20months old. I still call myself a New Zealander.  I am. Or … was. But I still am.

This weekend New Zealand is voting in its general election, and my friends and family are getting into a lather (albeit very different shades and colours) about policies, lies, smear campaigns, personal attacks - and getting out there and voting.

But not me.
 
I haven’t heard the daily media phaffle, or the statements from the politicians, contenders, community and business leaders.

I haven’t woken up to the bamboozling array of placards that threaten, cajole or plead. I am confused from afar by the strange characters I see joining the political fray - people who just don’t belong in politics - or don’t belong together in politics. I have not been part of this journey.

Aotearoa is in my blood, my DNA and my worldview. But its current politics is completely out of my field of view (It’s only been 20 months!). So this will be the first time since I turned 18 that I have not voted in a general election for Aotearoa.

Which is strange. I believe in this weird democratic system of ours, and am passionate about voting as a form of participation in it.  That’s what citizens do.

However I can’t vote. In all good conscience. Whether it is because I have not lived and breathed it in these few months past, or because I don’t believe it is about my (immediate) future. Maybe it is because our current political environment is short-sighted - only about a short term window of Campaign-ElectionDay-TermOfOffice. Or maybe it is because, at this moment, I don’t belong - enough.

Where do I belong?

An identity crisis in liminality - brought on by a voting paper.

Refugees: Why they may not be someone else's problem

(with a tip of the hat to Moses' encounter with a burning bush)

Sometimes holy places are unexpected places;

Like bike-paths.

Sometimes holy moments are in everyday life;

Like workplaces.

Sometimes God calls ordinary people to lead;

Like Moses the shepherd.

Always God hears the cry of the oppressed.

And sees the misery of the tormented.

And knows the pain of the lonely.

Always God sees the acts of the oppressor.

And the grip of the tyrant.

And the cruelty of slavery and war and racism.

And often

Holy places and

Ordinary people and

The cry of the stranger and

A listening God

Are in the same place,

At the same time,

For a good reason.

A reason that starts with God saying

“I have heard”

and continues with

“It's your turn to do something”

(ref to Exodus 3.1-15)

a short one on marathons and asylum seekers

I am once again running the Melbourne Marathon on 12 October. As part of this I am fundraising for the Lentara Uniting Care Asylum Seeker Project. We are hoping to raise at least $2000 for this very important cause. If you want to know more, or to donate, check out the fundraising page   https://give.everydayhero.com/au/nigel-hanscamp. Updates and progress will be posted on the fundraising page, or my Facebook page.

And for those who are really curious, my training is at about 80km per week. If you are up at 6.00, you can stand on the side of the road and cheer me on Monday - Thursday and Saturday!! :-)

Values for Money

What do we value, and how do our values 'work'?

Think about the things we treasure in terms of …

Moth

Rust

Thieves

& Heart

Think about the things we look at and our eyes

A Lamp

Our Body

Healthy Light?

Unhealthy Darkness?

Thinking about what we serve

Masters

God and Wealth

Hate and Love

Devoted and Despise

Think about Worry.

Birds?

You are of more value than you.

Think about Worry.

Flowers?
They have all they need.

Don’t worry.

Strive for God-space

Don’t worry.

Today.

It is a different type of economics theory that deals with questions of the heart, of anxiety, values, security and the way we look at things. 

I cringe when our politicians describe our nation as being “an economy”. 

As if we describe ourselves by the way money decisions are made, rather than by communities, neighbourhoods or terms that describe people and their relationships. 

Yes, I may sometimes be a consumer, but I am always a citizen.

We have an economy, not, we have one.   

And there is no such thing as “Compassionate Capitalism”, only compassionate people.

Think about the Sermon on the Mount:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek, the humble, the merciful, the peacemakers.”

It is about the creation of a new community, around Jesus.

This new world that God is creating, this Kingdom of God, this “God-space” is characterized by people whose attitudes and values look and feel different – and a community who model those values.

So, while it is scary, it is not surprising that Jesus includes conversation about money, and our attitude to money.  He never talks about money as an evil thing – nor does he talk about having too much money. But he describes Values for Money.

Matthew 6 (middle of this Sermon on the mount) is no random collection of sayings of Jesus plonked on a page.

There is a flow that starts with Alms-giving (or charity); Jesus’ values of money start with giving some away.

Then the Lord’s prayer – which starts with God, God’s coming realm, God’s will being done on earth … Forgiveness of debts (yes a money word is used as a parallel for “sin” or penchant to stuff things up), we have been forgiven our debts.

Times of testing or temptation (Money?)

Rescue us from the evil one or from evil (Money temptations?)

Forgiveness of others 'debts' - there's that word again.

Then fasting (going without food or stuff)

Then treasure and the heart

What the eyes look at reflecting and affecting what is going on in the heart

Serving God. Serving mammon

Do not worry.

Pick the thread? Money and stuff and our attitude to it!

Here in this Jesus-saying is “Mammon” – a warning word.

Mammon is not money – as in dollars and cents. Nor is it a demon lurking around a corner waiting to grab us.  Mammon is about the “meaning” of money and possessions.  Mammon comes into being when it becomes a ‘master’, something to be served.

Writers such as the philosopher Jaques Ellul, theologian Stanley Hauwerwas, and quaker John Howard Yoder all agree that using the word “mammon” is both risky and necessary.  Necessary, because it takes the phrase away from just money, just possessions, just house or car.  It is risky, because we can put it ‘away’ from us because we can say that we "haven’t seen a Mammon today".

Money, wealth, posessions, these all have a potential to take over our lives.  They are what the apostle Paul calls “Principalities and powers” – Not having inate power in and of themselves, but because of our human nature to give them that power.

Jesus talks about choosing; Mammon or God. Submission to Mammon in opposition to submission to God.  It is not a one-off choice, but something faced in our financial decisions. And the possibility of making choices for the good of others, community or the earth.  And it can be a decision that leads to freedom and lightness and hope for ourselves, our families and communities.

Which in the end comes down to the place of the heart, and how we seek that Kingdom, that “God-space”.   When we talk economics, we don’t often talk about the heart. And yet, in the financial collapse of 2011, one of the largest conversations was around the greed of the politicians, business leaders and CEOs. 

The heart.

Take a moment: 
What possessions of yours do you really value at this moment in my life? Write them down.

Now ask yourself this: 

In five years’ time, which of these possessions do you think will still hold the same importance for you?

Beyond your valued possessions, what is really important in your life that you would like to continue, to endure?

“Don't store up treasures on earth! Moths and rust can destroy them, and thieves can break in and steal them. Instead, store up your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy them, and thieves cannot break in and steal them. Your heart will always be where your treasure is.”

Working Grace

In one of the final scenes of the movie “V for Vendetta”, is the climactic recognition by the main character (named "V"), that his years of seeking vengeance on his enemies have been a brutal and broken response to the pain inflicted on himself and his country. The movie is a reinterpretation of the Guy Fawkes story, with a George Orwell 1984 twist, set in modern Britain. The script moves through his self-understandings as hero, villain, victim and ultimately as anti-hero.  

This growth in self-understanding - and consequent action - is what makes a good story. Students of literature are taught to look out for character development and understand how these contribute to the quality or otherwise of the story. Sometimes this comes through growing (or breaking) relationships, while at other times the growth of the character comes through a moment when they are forced to reflect on their actions or inactions.

And one reason why these stories work for us, is that they reflect the reality of our daily lives and give us opportunity to respond or act differently.  When the movie “Once were Warriors” came out in New Zealand, it generated a considerable ferment of conversation in the general public about domestic violence and how each of us contribute to it.  It did this because the characters reflected our “ordinaryness”, while at the same time having to come to terms with their “ordinary” brokenness or weakness.

At some point in our lives, we have all struggled with our own brokenness in relation to others. Whether as a parent with our children, as a child with parents, a spouse, business or work colleague or neighbour, our brokenness expresses itself in anger, gossip, unkind words or avoidance. Many of our apologies are framed because we “should not have done …” this or that … or we “should have known better” or "I wasn’t thinking clearly”. We are ordinary people trying to be the best we can be, but not always succeeding. Our brokenness “leaks” when we don’t want it to and we have to admit that while our standards are fairly high, our reality never quite gets there.

This is what Paul is talking about. The Message translation puts it this way; “For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway”. Romans 7.17-19 The Bible

The naming of “sin” is not popular, even in churches. However we know its reality in our own lives, and (maybe especially) in the lives of others.

From Entertainers Rolf Harris and Jimmy Savville to cyclist Lance Armstrong, we struggle to admit that people we thought of as lofty as heroes or as simply as kind, ordinary people, that these people are not only sinful, but abominably so.

It is abhorrent when we see it in others. It is scary when we see it in ourselves.  How do we deal with it? What do we do?  Over centuries of Christian practice there have been many answers offered. It would be fair to say that some have not been helpful.  Here’s a few thoughts that might be helpful.

I don’t believe it is helpful to tell people that if they sin they are going to Hell.
I do believe that we need to understand our brokenness and how it creates Hell in ourselves and others.

I don’t believe that we should beat ourselves up about our sin
I do believe that we need to name our sin for what it is.

I don’t believe that God judges us when we sin.
I believe that God requires us to account for our attitude towards it.

I don’t pretend that sin and brokenness and evil and humanity are easy to understand or solve. For it draws from me tears and frustration and sometimes even despair.

But I hope that I will always find a place for Grace.

The answer for sin and brokenness and weakness has never been to pile on guilt or damnation or promises of Hell.  God’s answer has always been grace.

After having slammed those who abuse power, and commended those who seek to understand God’s ways, Jesus says this; ““Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest”  Another translation goes on to say this …
“Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill–fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11.29-30 The Bible

“The unforced rhythms of grace”. However, to understand Grace, one needs to have encountered brokenness and sin.

I wrote this on Facebook during the week:
"What does a responsible, caring, parent / Christian / minister do? Rolf Harris is stripped of titles and awards, and his plaque is ripped out of pavements. Should we be throwing out his albums? What does our action or inaction say to our daughters, to our childhood memories, to those women (and men) for whom this trial and verdict have brought up the most terrible of memories about their own childhood abuse?”

I was on the floor stretching in the clubhouse yesterday after our run, and one of the guys came over to me and said that he had read my post on FaceBook, commenting how hard it was to deal with these questions. One of the other guys, a family councillor, chimed in and said that we need to keep talking about this - as hard as it is - because it is the only way we can bring out what is hidden and make it seen for what it is - unacceptable.

But what do we do with Rolf Harris?

One answer is simple.  Do what the Herald Sun did this week, and label him as an “Evil Mug”, and a “Singing and dancing predator”.  We demonise him, because it is easier to see evil in “them”, than to see it in us.  And if they are NOT like us, the separation and justification becomes easier.  As James Godfrey said to us in May, when we separate “them” from “us” it is no longer our issue, it is their problem and our job is to ignore them or come up with a solution for them, or lock him up and throw away the key.

So where does Grace fit, even there?

Or do we see him as human like us. Can we at the same time acknowledge his weakness or brokenness or sin AND see him as human like us?

Can we abhor his actions and do all we can to stop it happening again, AND still find grace to recognise that he too is created in God’s image?

Can grace go too far - even there?

This is working Grace.

When we wrestle with this very real human brokenness and sin and evil in our world and in our own lives, and are able to see that Grace persists, even in the middle of all this.

U2 have a great take on Grace. "Grace finds Beauty in Everything". (or Click here.)

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. … Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.”

The invitation of a hill

A hill is what it is.
It cannot change what it is.
I need to change in order to run it:
either get stronger or run smarter
or find another hill.

I never conquer the hill
- it will not be mine;

 It's challenge will still be there tomorrow.

I conquer myself
my fears, my inadequacy
I am stronger at the end than I was at the beginning:
Not because I have run the hill
but because I have given my best.

The hill is what it is
It cannot change what it is.
It invites me to change.

First words: An explosion of worship

This time last week I was in Alice Springs.  I began and ended my blog on that week away with these words:

I feel like I've been away forever.

Maybe I have.

Forever in time, place, heart.

Forever, to places where time is measured in thousands of years, or in generations, or in Dreamtime.

Where you can feel forever in the soil, the sunrise, the rocks, the sunset.

After nights sleeping under stars and cooking food on an open fire, I’m lying in bed in a motel in Alice, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of those sunrises, that rock, the open fire, sunsets that set fire to rocks, queues of aboriginal men outside a pub, others congregating in a supermarket carpark in a curious mingle with suits who have arrived in the latest Mini Cooper or Beemer, roos at sunset, dingos at dinner time. 

Occasionally the smell of the fire smoke in our clothes reminds us that this was not a dream.

I feel like I have been away Forever. Maybe Forever is a place (!?)

Maybe I am Dreaming, after all, in that aboriginal sense.

But I can still smell the smoke in my clothes ...

(the rest of that story is here)

There are many different ways to describe reality. When that reality is as complex as Creation or Trinity, we can get lost in detail or we can find wonder. We may even hear things with our hearts, or see things with different eyes if we are open to new perspectives. At Uluru we were invited into a deeper understanding of that sacred place.  But for some of us, that meant putting aside some of our expectations of time, our “right to climb the rock” and our understanding of how we might learn. We were invited to listen to ancient wisdom that uses different categories to ours – and still is true and real.

Genesis 1 is a bit like that. 

These words of beginning, of genesis, of creation.

Words written to speak of God in action; awesome, amazing, creative, detailed, intimate, care-ful.

Some say this God sits on a throne, but in the creation God is very present and close.

In the Worship Space in the desert a lone voice is heard, “And God Said …”

And the people whisper in response, “… and it was so.”

The voice continues more strongly, “And God said …”

And the people utter the words confidently, “And it was so”.

The voice shouts, “And God said …”

And the people shout in response, “And it was so.”

And God saw that it was Good.

Words heard over generations, passed on from parents to children.

And God created humankind

In his own image

In the image of God,

God Created them

Male and female

He created them.

(yes, male and female, in his image)

And God saw

All

that he had made.  And it was

VERY

Good.

And he rested.

(for a version of Genesis 1 as a responsive reading for a worship setting, click here)

Ancient words, written to remind God’s people that at the beginning of the story, there is God who creates and is intimately concerned with this creation.  It is a theological statement.

Science is concerned with giving nature its own meaning and purpose (or seeking to understand it) apart from God; Mythology wants to tell stories of gods apart from created beings.

Genesis 1 is altogether different. This story affirms that creator and creation are intimately linked in a covenant expressed in action – God’s act of creation by the Spirit.  As such it is neither science nor history nor myth. It is a theological statement, a bold explosion of worship of God - and of confidence in this one who is so intimately concerned with the created world. Creator and creation are delicately and uniquely linked. Against other ways of understanding the world, these words affirm that all that is described is fully and joyfully God’s creation. What’s more, this creation and this bond make salvation possible (or maybe even inevitable) – because God cannot walk away from God’s creation, even if created beings may turn away from God.

These words of Genesis 1, when disconnected from this setting of worship and theology, find themselves used for purposes for which they were never intended.  Their language and intention and purpose become confused. Our questions of, “Is this historical” or “is it true and verifiable”, or even “is it a mythical description” would never have been a question in the minds of the writers, or the jewish people who first held these sacred texts.  That is not to say that these questions are irrelevant.  But that is simply not the concern of these texts, which have as their primary focus, the relationship of the creator to the creation in a theological statement – which is still true and real.

God is intimately concerned with all of this world. This creator is not a manufacturer or carpenter who makes something and walks away.  Words are spoken, “And God said…” and responded to, “And it was so.” God puts God-self into creation through speaking.  This creator has a purpose for creation, for each part of this creation is stated as having a purpose.

And there is purpose in having this explosion of worship as the very first words of the scriptures.  It reminds us 

• That our story starts with God.
• That this God brings order from chaos, and creates with intention and intimacy of words.
• That humanity is not only part of the creation, and not only the final part of the creation, but in the image of God.
• That this "image" is not just a select few. It is all. Male and female.
• That this not a statement of hubris, of pride and arrogance.  No – it is a whispered response of awe at the purpose and intention and work of God; and the sacredness of the other. Each other. Every other.
• That All of creation is good.
• That All of creation is blessed.
• And that everything, and everyone, and even God, rests.

First words: An explosion of worship.

(From a sermon for Trinity Sunday, June 2014)

Dreaming

I feel like I've been away forever.

Maybe I have.

Forever in time, place, heart.

Forever, to places where time is measured in thousands of years, or in generations, or in Dreamtime.

Where you can feel forever in the soil, the sunrise, the rocks, the sunset.

"We acknowledge the Anangu People as the traditional owners and custodians of the land ... "

A man saw Uluru as something to be conquered, his right to walk all over. The gate was closed by the aboriginal ranger for sunset and safety, but the man insisted on walking through the gate and wanting to climb; To climb that rock which The People ask him not to climb - but he sees as his right to climb. I'm not sure whether the ranger's response was immature ("I'll count to five and I want you off"), or whether the man's immaturity deserved it.

Sleeping in places where our food is cooked on an open fire, sheltered by a rock and a cliff that holds the memories of the fires of other campers, explorers, wanderers, and locals ... over hundreds of years; (where you dig a hole for a loo!); where we wake, unzip the tent and lie in our sleeping bags gazing over a riverbed and listen to the gentle zephyr in the reeds, a crow, and ... Forever (is there a word for hearing nothing else, ... and everything else?).

A mission station where my people tried for a hundred years ... tried, and now their trying is a reputation of goodness and mercy, and a village of people living in safety and possibility, and a Museum to 'Trying'.

Two nights later we are in sheets, in a bed, (showered!), in a motel, behind electric gates in a town called Alice.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of those sunrises, that rock, the open fire, sunsets that set fire to rocks, queues of aboriginal men outside a pub, others congregating in a supermarket carpark in a curious mingle with suits who have arrived in the latest Mini Cooper or Beemer, roos at sunset, dingos at dinner time. 

Occasionally the smell of the fire smoke in our clothes reminds us that this was not a dream.

The sun rises, but is hidden by curtains and electronic gates.

So we pack the memories and the camera and the smoke-soaked clothes.

"... We remember their ancestors with respect & commit ourselves to work for reconciliation & justice for indigenous people."

And go to listen to Anne - an (Ab-)Original grandmother who holds the stories of her people, explains rights and rites, "our lore" and "British law", clashes and customs, edible berries and skin systems and a human world and a spiritual world and symbols and women's world and men's stuff and nature and ... 'Dreaming' as a world view, and a way of living, now.

I feel like I have been away Forever. Maybe Forever is a place (!?)

A Forever bookended by a man with rights, and a woman with rites.

Maybe I am Dreaming, after all. 

But I can still smell the smoke in my clothes ...

They aren't just running shoes ...

A thought came to mind when I was cleaning out the laundry today.

How many running shoes does a bloke need? 

Each pair tells stories of pain and success and getting out there when I was too tired and rain storms and 40deg days and exploring new trails and seeing new sights and races run and finished against difficult odds and beating personal bests - and then getting out next week to do it all over again - and finding new friends and tears over leaving others behind (or saying goodbye forever) and Dad's heart attack and hard decisions at work and learning more about myself and just when I thought I couldn't go on, finding one more step and another, and ... and ...  

They aren't just running shoes. They are way, way more ...

We had hoped - a reflection on doubt and burning hearts

It happens every now and then.

The mist clears, the fog lifts a little
the light is brighter, and the words on the page make sense
Sometimes there is a warmth in our hearts that says, 
‘I want more of this’
‘I want to stay in this place, and bask in this light and feel this sense of understanding.’

‘Our hearts burn within us.
YES it is true. It is clear. It makes sense.’

Those moments make sense because of those other moments.
or days.
Where nothing is clear.
Where there is doubt and fear and unbelief
and not knowing if any of it is true.

Not that we know it is untrue
but we are just not sure or clear or ...

Emmaus (Luke 24, The Bible) is a gentle reminder that both of these are true and real;

The doubt and the clarity.
In fact all those resurrection appearances are based on this.
Mary, Thomas, Cleopas and his friend
None believed; could believe; were ready to believe.

For them, this dream was all over. Finished. No more.
They had hoped. Past tense.
This One, this Jesus, they had heard his preaching - heard him explain God like no one had ever before.
Somehow through him, blind people had been able to see again, lame people walk, the friendless find company, and people who had died were again alive, a gift of life for their families.

There was something very different about this man. 
A freshness like nothing they had experienced, in the way he talked, and lived.
Maybe, certainly, this was the one through whom the hopes of our parents would become alive.

We had hoped. Past tense
We had hoped, and now we don’t.
We have stopped hoping and stopped our habit of hoping.

Mary, Thomas, Cleopas and his friend.

Giving up hope feels tired and sad.
It is easy to imagine these two walking down the road
heads bowed, shoulders slumped, short steps, feet dragging.
Talking about what’s happened, trying to make sense out of it.

It’s all very well for others to make up stories of seeing Jesus.
That didn’t make sense either.

That sense of hopelessness is real for many.
Even for many in church today.
When we say a creed that begins, “I believe”
some will want to shout it out.
others will want to put a question mark after it.

There is room in the story for Mary, Thomas, Cleopas and his friend
and there is room in this place for those who feel doubt, who have lost hope.

This story doesn’t fix that doubt.
But it encourages the search, the looking, the exploring – and a glimpse of hope.

Jesus appears to them.
And they don’t recognise him
He talks with them
And they still don’t recognise him.
They invite him into their home
And they still don’t recognise him

And then,

that moment.

Bread is broken and shared

And all that had happened before

All that heart-burning made sense.
and suddenly their eyes see what their hearts had felt along that road.

Just as their doubt was real, so now is that joy.
From “We had hoped” (past tense) to "Stay with us” to Recognition.

Welcome, and hospitality, opens a new story. 

A new way of seeing the stories, of understanding God.

Those moments when our hearts are burning – those are the ones we want to tell others about.

And we choose which moment to live in.

that moment of doubt or hopelessness 

– or that moment of our hearts burning. 

Which of those stories will we live, which of those stories will we pursue further?

In this story, those who doubt are encouraged to keep looking
Those who are convinced, are encouraged to be convinced
Those who have seen something are encouraged to share it with others.

Emmaus – by Joy Cowley
On that day of rain, I walked with You,

Seeing but not seeing You in wet trees,
Hearing but not hearing You

In the symphony of water sounds
Played by a flooded stream.

You were everywhere and yet closer
Than the sanctuary of my umbrella,

Closer than a misted breath.

I didn’t need to ask who You were

For my heart burned with recognition.
Fearing that I would lose You,

I cried, “Oh Lord, come home with me!”
You smiled through the dancing rain,

The puddles, the grey fence posts,
And You whispered, “Ah! I am already there.”