By some strange scheduling serendipity I was doing Prayer for the Day on Radio at 5:45 this morning and then was live on Radio Wales for the Weekend Word slot at 7:30. Below are the scripts for both, sadly Messrs Calvin and Jackson did never met ... not even in my reflections ... but you've got to pray they're getting on just fine now. Anyway here's some thoughts on Calvin: Happy Birthday Jean: 500 today
I find it strange in the summer, to emerge from the darkness of a cinema or theatre and discover that it still is bright outside. Daylight forces me too quickly to leave behind the characters of fiction and return to the realities of life.
Of course if the show is true to the promise of the arts, then it will provoke me to think afresh about the real world too.
This is what good drama can achieve.
And it’s also a great challenge of the Christian faith.
Five hundred years ago today a boy was born who would rise to such a task. That he continues to be read and revered half a millennium later is testament to the depth of his work and the dedication of his purpose … his name was John Calvin.
Although he might not be everybody’s favourite, the man ought not to be confused with populis
t notions of Calvinism. As often happens the man behind the books can be eclipsed by the rhetoric of his supporters and the caricatures of his enemies. So let’s forget the cartoon images of Calvin as an intolerant, black robed legalist who saw depravity at every corner. Because John Calvin’s hope was for us all to see the world in a new light, to understand creation as the theatre for God’s glory.
God was not only to be discovered in the church, but in the world. And not just in the wonders of nature or the beauty of the arts. If all life carries with it something of God’s glory, then finding glimpses of heaven here on earth is not the sole concern of priests or poets, it is present in the tasks that any one of us may attempt today, as nurses or teachers, journalists or politicians, as children and as parents.
Lord God, may we enter the light of your glory today
In whatever occupies our time
In whoever crosses our path
May we discover something of You. Amen
I find it strange in the summer, to emerge from the darkness of a cinema or theatre and discover that it still is bright outside. Daylight forces me too quickly to leave behind the characters of fiction and return to the realities of life.
Of course if the show is true to the promise of the arts, then it will provoke me to think afresh about the real world too.
This is what good drama can achieve.
And it’s also a great challenge of the Christian faith.
Five hundred years ago today a boy was born who would rise to such a task. That he continues to be read and revered half a millennium later is testament to the depth of his work and the dedication of his purpose … his name was John Calvin.
Although he might not be everybody’s favourite, the man ought not to be confused with populis
t notions of Calvinism. As often happens the man behind the books can be eclipsed by the rhetoric of his supporters and the caricatures of his enemies. So let’s forget the cartoon images of Calvin as an intolerant, black robed legalist who saw depravity at every corner. Because John Calvin’s hope was for us all to see the world in a new light, to understand creation as the theatre for God’s glory.God was not only to be discovered in the church, but in the world. And not just in the wonders of nature or the beauty of the arts. If all life carries with it something of God’s glory, then finding glimpses of heaven here on earth is not the sole concern of priests or poets, it is present in the tasks that any one of us may attempt today, as nurses or teachers, journalists or politicians, as children and as parents.
Lord God, may we enter the light of your glory today
In whatever occupies our time
In whoever crosses our path
May we discover something of You. Amen
And now ... here's some thoughts on Michael J. and the rest of this week:
This has been a memorable week …
or at least it’s been a week of memorials.
The unveiling of the poignant tribute to those who died in The London Bombings was not quite the same as the fans who gathered to say goodbye to Michael Jackson, and that Hollywood farewell was very different to those who stood quietly in the rain to honour the fallen service personnel whose bodies were returned home from Afghanistan … but everyone was committed to an act of remembrance.
A few weeks ago I went back to the town where I grew up. My old school yard was pretty much the same, but I was horrified to discover that new class rooms had been built where there used to be the carcass of a once proud oak-tree that had a hole within its trunk, big enough to conceal boy. I was surprised at the strength of my reaction ... how angry I was that they'd removed this witness to my childhood: couldn't they tell that it was special, after-all, I'd left my initials carved into its bark.
I don't remember now, why I must have spent a number of lunch times with a blunt pen knife, making my mark and recording the date, but perhaps somewhere, even at eleven, I was trying to ensure that the earth had some memorial of my time upon it.
It’s a longing most of us will share ... it’s a dream that many will pursue.
But this week has given us these many different moments when people have been concerned, not with carving their own name into history, but in honouring people who’ve died, offering their last respects to someone they loved and who is now most dearly missed.
In ancient times we might have erected a standing stone for such a purpose, in the bible they often built an altar to remember some significant event or person: now days we may sing hymns at a grave or leave flowers at the side of the road. The Christian Church has had its fair share of building memorials, but what the faith has always taught us is that the greatest memorial we can build to anyone is to continue what they've have done, to live how they have lived.
That’s why the first disciples tried to do the things of Jesus and why many Christians still attempt the same today. The greatest thing to do, he once said, was to love God and to love our neighbour as we love ourselves.
Such a life is not an easy one
but imagine what our children would remember of us
if that were how we lived.
A few weeks ago I went back to the town where I grew up. My old school yard was pretty much the same, but I was horrified to discover that new class rooms had been built where there used to be the carcass of a once proud oak-tree that had a hole within its trunk, big enough to conceal boy. I was surprised at the strength of my reaction ... how angry I was that they'd removed this witness to my childhood: couldn't they tell that it was special, after-all, I'd left my initials carved into its bark.
I don't remember now, why I must have spent a number of lunch times with a blunt pen knife, making my mark and recording the date, but perhaps somewhere, even at eleven, I was trying to ensure that the earth had some memorial of my time upon it.
It’s a longing most of us will share ... it’s a dream that many will pursue.
But this week has given us these many different moments when people have been concerned, not with carving their own name into history, but in honouring people who’ve died, offering their last respects to someone they loved and who is now most dearly missed.
In ancient times we might have erected a standing stone for such a purpose, in the bible they often built an altar to remember some significant event or person: now days we may sing hymns at a grave or leave flowers at the side of the road. The Christian Church has had its fair share of building memorials, but what the faith has always taught us is that the greatest memorial we can build to anyone is to continue what they've have done, to live how they have lived.
That’s why the first disciples tried to do the things of Jesus and why many Christians still attempt the same today. The greatest thing to do, he once said, was to love God and to love our neighbour as we love ourselves.
Such a life is not an easy one
but imagine what our children would remember of us
if that were how we lived.
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