Portals, doorways, gates, and windows

Yesterday, when it was somewhere between drizzling and sprinkling, I ducked into the sacristy of the ruins of the Nunnery because it still has a small portion of roof.  Then the sun peeked out, and I started taking pictures.  Interestingly, most of them were of ancient doorways, arched windows, and gates -- portals between one place and another, points where what is gives way to what is to come.

I happened to take this wonderful shot of water, sky, medieval stone, and light.  It made me think of restoration, of new life, of Jesus standing before the tomb of Lazarus, saying, "Lazarus, come forth!" It made me think of fleshly, original, physical birth, the way in which we all enter this world through the portal of our mother's very body.  It also made me think of the new birth into the life of Christ, which is movement and progress and growth in holiness as the Spirit prods and woos and pushes us forward through doors into new situations.  Just as a baby cannot stay in the womb, we cannot stay in one place in our spiritual lives.  We have to leave the dark, warm, familiar safety for whatever lies ahead.   We have to be vulnerable to change, to the unfamiliar, to the uncomfortable, to the new.

There is uncertainty in moving out, even with the Spirit's help, but just as this picture suggests, there is something beautiful and light and spacious out there waiting for us in the unknown.  I invite you to sit with this picture and let it guide your prayer as you ponder where God is leading you, your family, your church, your community, your nation, your world.  Ask for the eyes to see what that might look like and the courage to take that first step forward into the light.

Iona, crossroads of the world

Today was my first full day wandering around Iona since I arrived yesterday afternoon, and the weather did the usual Scottish weather thing -- it was grey, it was blue, it was partly cloudy, it rained, it was sunny.  I waited until there was something of a break in the clouds before venturing out, and to my delight, I ran into my friend Becca.  She and I made plans to meet with our friend Jann for tea later, and off I went, checking out all my favorite little shops.

Finding myself a bit hungry, I headed towards the Iona Heritage Centre for a sandwich, and since there were no free tables, I invited myself to sit at a table with a young man with his head in a book. Soon a young woman joined us, and it turned out that she and he had met the day before on the ferry. Before long, the three of us were deep in conversation about all sorts of things, not just talk about the weather or how good our food was, but real things, matters about which we were passionate.  We found much in common, despite the difference in our ages and nationalities (she was German; he was Dutch; they were both in their thirties.)  We reflected on the virtues of travel and how it opens one's mind up and broadens perspectives, how it frees the spirit to move beyond the narrow boundaries of what is familiar and ordinary.  I marveled at the freedom they both had in picking up and moving their tents whenever and wherever they liked, and they expressed admiration at my choice of venue for my sabbatical.  The young woman asked a lot of questions about Methodism and seemed genuinely interested in my research questions/ideas/dreams.  She grew up Roman Catholic and seems to be looking for a way to live out her Christian faith in a different way.  I told her I'd be keeping her in my prayers, and we hugged as we parted.  Our Dutch friend had already hurried away to catch a ferry, but his insights into the spirituality of place, especially as it relates to the more remote nooks and crannies of Scotland were thoughtful and interesting.

Every time I come to this wee island off the west coast of Scotland, I meet people or re-encounter people who have a message for me, a word or perspective I need to hear, or a challenge to an accustomed way of thinking about something.  Every time I come here, I am reminded that the seas were once the great highways of the world and that small islands like this one were remote in one sense but in another sense were the crossroads of the world.  From the ancient druids about whom little is known, to the Irish monks and the Vikings who brutally murdered them, this has been a place where diverse peoples have found themselves, a place where thousands of visitors still come each year in search of something.  I don't know whether my two new friends have found some of the answers they are seeking on Iona, but I feel certain that this place will continue to shape their questions and in turn, perhaps lead them on towards the One in whom our hearts find rest and hope and peace.

Ordinary Time in Epworth

July 24 would have been my mother's 86th birthday.  I think about her a lot, but you can imagine how much she was on my mind Monday.  The night before, we had seen the play in honor of Susanna Wesley on the 275th anniversary of her death, and thinking of the relationship she and John shared reminded me of Mama.  It was also my last full day in Epworth, a fact that produced its own sort of grief.  I spent the morning after breakfast just wandering around the village, bidding a fond farewell, first of all to Wesley Memorial Methodist Church, and then to the Old Rectory.  As I headed back towards the Red Lion, Louise texted me to suggest that we go to the garden centre (yeah, I know, but it's in England, so ...) and pick out some flowers to plant in Mama's memory in Wesley's Memorial garden.  This incredibly thoughtful suggestion could not have been more perfect, because if there was anything my mama loved besides Jesus, it was flowers.

And so, she and I and her wonderful kids did just that.  Her son Jack carried the flower for me, her daughter Holly watered it, and Louise took this picture of me planting it.

It was an incredibly emotional moment for me.  I was leaving a piece of myself and my Methodist mother in Epworth, the womb of Methodism, if you will, and it was at the loving suggestion of my new friend who welcomed me into her life and family as if we'd known each other forever.  Because of Louise, I met so many different people in Epworth and literally was able to greet them by name when I walked down the street or into the church or the Old Rectory.  Because of Louise, I had someone to share my joy with over the various Wesleyan experiences that came my way (like my purchase of a Staffordshire figurine of, you guessed it, John Wesley.)  Because of Louise, I felt the power of God's presence and grace that not even death can eradicate and was comforted by the simple ritual act of dropping a living plant into the rich soil of the church garden.

Paul reminds us that we all have gifts to be used for the good of the whole Body of Christ.  One of those gifts is hospitality.  I'm not particularly good at it, but I can sure recognize it when I see it, and Louise Howard is brimming with it.  I will remember many, many things about Epworth (and the rest of Lincolnshire), and I am already wondering when I can go back, and Louise was a huge part of that. She is a woman of faith who loves the work (paid and unpaid) she does for the church, keeps an eye on elderly neighbors and their pets, encourages her husband and children in all their activities, and loves her own aging parents and worries over them.  She probably doesn't think she does anything special.  My mama was like that.  She never knew how amazing and wonderful she was (though I tried to tell her).

Louise and Mama make me think of ordinary time.  You know, the season of the church year when the paraments on the altar and the stole around my neck stay green for weeks on end.  Ordinary time.  Where most of our lives are lived.  Not ordinary as in blah, boring, why even bother but ordinary as in the regular, usual, habitual ways in which our days are lived, our souls are enriched, and our growth in grace is marked in slow, steady heartbeats.  Ordinary, yet laden with extraordinary grace in the planting of a flower, the hug when tears are close, the act of inviting someone to share a meal at the table.

In Epworth, an extraordinary ordinary market town in Lincolnshire.  Epworth, home of the Wesleys -- and  even more.

"Transforming the World from the Kitchen" (exhibition in the Old Rectory highlighting various women in Methodism)

This is the fireplace/oven in Susanna Wesley's kitchen in the Old Rectory, Epworth.  I don't cook even with electricity and all the modern conveniences, so it amazes me to think of her (and her housekeeper) producing meals for a houseful of children, plus herself and Samuel, all from this tiny space.

For many people, the kitchen is the heart of their home.  It's the place where people gather, not only to eat and drink, but to share the joys and griefs of the day with those whom they love most.  It is tempting to get sentimental and imagine a toddler Jacky Wesley wobbling uncertainly towards his mother and toppling over into her outstretched arms, and who's to say that didn't happen?  But get behind the warm fuzzies we often wrap motherhood in and think about this remarkable woman who in many ways did transform the world from her kitchen.

Susanna Annesley Wesley was as educated as it was possible for a woman to be given the restrictions on what women could do and be in the late 17th/early 18th century.  She was the 24th or 25th child (last one, anyway) born to the Rev. Samuel Annesley and Mary White Annesley.  As part of such a large brood, she could have been overlooked, but she showed delight in learning from a young age and had free reign of her distinguished clergyman father's library.  At the age of almost 13, she remarkably chose to join the Church of England rather than remain in the Nonconformist fold of her father, and at age 19 married the Rev. Samuel Wesley, a clergyman in the Church of England and in that religious milieu they raised their 10 children.

In their isolated parish of Epworth on the Isle of Axholme (a patch of land cut off from the rest of the world by several rivers and other watery barriers), Susanna devised an orderly method for educating her children, male and female, in the ways of God as well as in reading and writing, etc.  She kept a journal and wrote letters in which she expressed her desire to do good to her children's souls so they would live Christian lives and experience salvation.  To that end, she not only kept regular "school hours" in which no interruption was allowed, but she allotted an hour a week of her time to each child individually -- a time of talking and listening and giving spiritual counsel that belonged specifically to that child.

Thursday nights were the time given to Jacky, and it left a lasting impression.  Even as a student at Christ College, Oxford, he discussed theological matters with his mother in long letters, asking for her thoughts and opinion, taking seriously her continuing role in his life as a spiritual adviser and guide.  The high regard he had for Susanna as a woman of intellect and piety plus his upbringing with seven lively, intelligent sisters gave John Wesley unusual insight into the ways women's lives were constricted by convention and society AND the ways in which they might step out of those roles to act in accord with their understanding and experience of God.

I won't try to argue whether he was a feminist advocate or a patriarchal figure -- truly, he exhibited characteristics of both -- but it is indisputable that not only the methodical approach he took to "redeeming" his time but also some of his theology itself can be traced to the hearth in the above picture.  In Susanna, he saw a woman who controversially conducted prayer meetings in her kitchen in her husband's absence, who read and digested heavy works of theology in her rare moments of quiet, who prayed and wrote and conversed with the goal of committing her entire life with all its griefs and burdens to the Triune God.  All of this had tremendous influence on how women were valued and set to work in the work of the Methodist revival.  In Methodism, they found a space in which they could declare publicly what the Lord had done for them.  In Methodism, they found a space in which they could share spiritual guidance and act as mentors to others, both male and female.  In Methodism, they found a space in which to begin to transform the world, starting from the kitchen, yes, but going far, far beyond.

So, thank you, Mother Susanna, for your insights, your courage, your stubbornness, your honesty, your piety, and your devotion -- your children made good use of them in giving birth to the Methodist movement, and your spiritual daughters will be eternally grateful for the legacy you have left.

Monday, July 17 -- A Day Out

One of the most enjoyable parts of my sabbatical has been stepping outside the tourist box and actually getting to know people who live and work wherever I find myself.  Yesterday, Stuart and Marion, a retired Methodist pastor and his schoolteacher wife, escorted me all over the lovely county of Lincolnshire.  Among other things, we toured a working windmill and had tea in its adjacent shop, went in search of my Fowler ancestors at Theddlethorpe St Helen, attended Evensong at Lincoln Cathedral, and visited Raithby Chapel.

Raithby Chapel is the oldest Methodist church in Lincolnshire.  It is a tiny gem, only slightly altered from the 18th century, and unusually, it is located over the stables of Raithby Hall. The chapel and manor house were built by Robert Carr Brackenbury, a Lincolnshire squire who was a passionate Methodist preacher and close friend of Wesley.  The chapel was built even before his home was completed and was dedicated by John Wesley in 1779 as a place of worship.  Because it is located on private land, it is somewhat unusual to get to wander in for a look around, but we happened upon the right person at the right time and were able to spend quite a bit of time there.

Just as people have personalities, sometimes places seem to have their own "feel," and Raithby is no exception.  It is small and intimate and light and airy, perhaps partly because it is above the stables and not on the ground itself, and perhaps partly because it is still in use as a house of worship.  It's not hard to imagine John Wesley lining out a hymn, reading a passage of scripture, and delivering a sermon to a serious congregation in this place he called an "earthly paradise."

I had to laugh as I stood up in the pulpit because it was obviously designed for the much smaller Mr. Wesley and not for me at 5'8"!  The chapel is simple and plain, with no extra ornamentation or flourishes -- just the kind of preaching house John Wesley favored for the people called Methodists.  I love how the past seems so close and yet this is still a place where present and future generations can gather to sing "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling" and "O Thou Who Camest From Above," where new ways to be in mission and ministry can be discerned and empowered by the Spirit as Christ is preached and adored.

As mentioned above, we also visited the parish church where my Fowler ancestors worshiped prior to crossing the Atlantic and settling in Virginia in 1621, and we attended Evensong at Lincoln Cathedral.  These also made an impression on me for quite different reasons, but that will be the subject of a future blog, so as they say, watch this space!

Epworth

There are many things I could say about Epworth, and no doubt, I will.  But I thought I'd start with one of the first pictures I took when I arrived here on Thursday afternoon, July 13.  I was met at the station by Louise, the administrative assistant for the minister of Wesley Memorial Methodist Church here in Epworth, and her husband, John.  They graciously escorted me to the Red Lion, and after they left, I took a walk around the village.

The Red Lion is located very close to St Andrews, the parish church served by the Rev. Samuel Wesley from 1695 until his death in 1735.  In 1742, John returned to Epworth and offered to assist the curate, Mr. Romney, in the service.  This did not go well; however, he did stay to worship.  In his journal, he writes:

‘He did not care to accept my assistance. The church was exceeding full in the afternoon, a rumour being spread that I was to preach.

‘But the sermon on ‘Quench not the Spirit’ was not suitable to the expectation of many of the hearers. Mr. Romney told them one of the most dangerous ways of quenching the Spirit was by enthusiasm; and enlarged on the character of an enthusiast…’

It was clear to everyone that the dangerous "enthusiast" being referred to was of course, John Wesley himself.  And it was equally clear that he was not going to be allowed anywhere near the pulpit, the altar, or anywhere else on church property.  There was a place in the church yard, however, that he could use as a makeshift pulpit, a bit of land owned by the Wesley family, not the church.   Quite a large crowd gathered at six to hear him.  John writes:

‘I stood near the east end of the church, upon my father’s tomb stone and cried, ‘The kingdom of heaven is not meat and drink, but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.’

Given that momentous occasion in Wesley's life, you can imagine my excitement when I really looked at this picture after taking it.  You can see that despite the shadows that are beginning to fall as the afternoon wore on, the light of the sun has picked out Samuel's grave, and the top of it is shining.

I could not help chuckling.  It was almost as if John had jumped atop the stone and declared again that the Spirit of the Lord had anointed him to preach the good news and that the world indeed was his parish.  What a great way to begin my extended visit to this small but vibrant village, the cradle of Methodism!

O let me commend my Savior to you!

This statue of Charles Wesley stands in the entrance to the newest part of the New Room in Bristol, and he is clearly impassioned.  You can almost hear him exclaim, "O let me commend my Savior to you!" (which is what the inscription on the bottom reads) 

The Wesleyan/Methodist revival was characterized by many things, not all of them theologically original, but THE theological distinctive that was the Wesleys' gift to the Church Universal was their firm conviction that one could be made perfect in love during one's earthly lifetime.  They believed that all have sinned,  that all can be saved, that all can know they are saved, and  that all can be saved to the uttermost.  

Christian perfection, also called entire sanctification, or holiness, is not something we can earn or achieve; it is a gift from God that we receive as we pray for it, attending on the ordinances of God, doing acts of mercy and piety, and actively seeking to live our lives motivated only by love of God and neighbor.  As Gayle Felton, my professor at Meredith and at Duke Divinity School put it, "It is possible, not because we are so good, but because God is so great!"

John and Charles Wesley, as well as the other early Methodist exhorters and preachers like Mary Bosanquet and Sarah Crosby, firmly believed this and preached it with great fervor, taught it in their classes, and sang it in their hymns.  It is part of the DNA of the United Methodist Church, and when we are ordained, we are asked if we are going on to perfection, if we are earnestly seeking it, and if we expect to be made perfect in this lifetime, and you better believe the bishop and other clergy expect the answer to be a firm and resounding YES!

Today, I ran across the manuscript of a Charles Wesley hymn that I had never heard of before.  It is a good example of this emphasis on being made perfect in love so that even though sin remained, it did not reign in one's heart.  Here it is, as I have attempted to transcribe it from Charles' lovely but small script --

Come, Lord, with thy disciples sit

Assembled in thy name

And let us kiss thy bleeding feet

And let us love the Lamb. 

Is this the time, say, Jesu, say

Wilt thou, O Lord, restore

Thy kingdom in our souls today

And bid us sin no more.

Now wilt thou make an end of sin

The kingdom of thy peace

The joy unspeakable bring in 

The perfect righteousness.

We wait till thou the gift impart

The unction from above

Come quickly, Lord, in every heart

Set up thy throne of love.

Or (for it is not ours to know)

The times by God assigned

Give us till thou thyself restore

An humble, patient mind.

Thee let us praise with one accord

And in thy temple say

Wait for the coming of the Lord

And without ceasing pray.

Still at Jerusalem abide

In prospect of thy peace

Till thou shalt in our hearts reside

And sin forever cease.

Give when thou wilt the blessing give

The kingdom from above

But let us all at last receive

The power of perfect Love.

On this day, may you, too earnestly seek for Jesus to set up his throne in your heart, to bless you with the power of perfect love, and to be made holy even as he is holy.  Remember and take comfort that the One who told us to be perfect even as God is perfect, is mighty and faithful to keep all promises made to us!  

O let me commend my Savior to you!

Amen.

Have you heard God's voice: has your heart been stirred?

No picture today, either.  Just these words from a hymn we sang this morning at Didsbury Methodist Church.  To hear the tune, go to youtube.com.  The haunting melody fits the words perfectly.  As we sang this, I thought to myself, these are big questions, easily answered with our lips perhaps, but not so easy to answer with our lives and actions.  The images stirred into life by the words and tune could just as easily have come from the day of the Wesleys.  Voiceless people, violent crowds, city streets, distressing news -- these are all part and parcel of our world just as they were in the 18th century, and the challenge lies before us no less than it did when our foremothers and forefathers in faith struggled with it.  But if we are called by Christ's name, we don't have the option of remaining silent on the sidelines while the innocent suffer,and we are called to serve with words of grace and love and actions that point to Christ.  So, I invite you to listen to and read this hymn and ask yourself as an individual and as a community of faith:  Will we walk the path that will cost us much and embrace the world's pain and sorrow?  Will we trust the One who entrusts to us the disciples of tomorrow?


1         Have you heard God’s voice; has your heart been stirred?
           Are you still prepared to follow?
           Have you made a choice to remain and serve,
           though the way be rough and narrow?

Refrain (except the last time)
                Will you walk the path that will cost you much
                and embrace the pain and sorrow?
                Will you trust in One who entrusts to you
                the disciples of tomorrow?

2         Will you use your voice; will you not sit down
           when the multitudes are silent?
           Will you make a choice to stand your ground
           when the crowds are turning violent?

3         In your city streets will you be God’s heart?
           Will you listen to the voiceless?
           Will you stop and eat, and when friendships start,
           will you share your faith with the faithless?

4         Will you watch the news with the eyes of faith
           and believe it could be different?
           Will you share your views using words of grace?
           Will you leave a thoughtful imprint?

                We will walk the path that will cost us much
                and embrace the pain and sorrow.
                We will trust in One who entrusts to us
                the disciples of tomorrow.

Jacqueline G. Jones
Reproduced from Singing the Faith Electronic Words Edition, number 662
Words and Music: © 2008 Jacqueline G. Jones

Thus to sing, and thus to love

Because we aren't allowed to post pictures of anything in the library, I can't show you the faded ink on a yellowing page, and even if I could do that, I couldn't share the unmistakable smell of OLD with you through a computer screen.  But imagine, if you will, a small, worn brown book, bound sometime in the early 1800's, bearing the simple title Manuscript Hymns.  That's it.  No name on the spine, no hint of the treasures within.  Just -- Manuscript Hymns.

Until the book is opened reverently, quietly, almost breathlessly, and the bookplate inside the front cover tells you that it once belonged to the Rev. Thomas Jackson and then to the Wesleyan Theological Institution.  You quickly discover that it is a collection of printed early Methodist hymnals with a healthy scattering of manuscript hymns (there's that title again) throughout.  It falls open easily to one well-known, beloved Christmas hymn, though with a slightly different title -- "Hark, How All the Welkin Rings" is there in Charles Wesley's small, neat handwriting, followed by a hymn written for Epiphany.

Several blank pages follow and then the printed collection of Hymns for our Lord's Resurrection. Then suddenly, when least expected, another manuscript appears in the midst of the printed text, and the words fairly fly off the page --  "Christ, the Lord is Risen Today!" 11 stanzas, much of it familiar, some of it less so, all of it straight from the warmed heart of the Wesley brother best remembered for his religious poetry and hymns, sung for hundreds of years in almost every denomination on the planet.

Hail the Lord of Earth and Heaven!
Praise to Thee by both be given:
Thee we greet triumphant now,
Hail the Resurrection Thou!

King of Glory, Soul of Bliss,
Everlasting Life is this
Thee to know, thy Power to prove,
Thus to sing, and thus to love.

The Alleluias we are familiar with were added later, but even without them, the joy, the assurance, the utter abandon into the trusted arms of a resurrected Christ shine through every syllable from Charles' pen. The script on the page may be faded, but this is no dead historical artifact; this is a living faith.

And my eyes fill with tears, and I have a lump in my throat, and I think of saints who are already gone, people whose lives and faith gave shape and meaning to my own, and I want to lay my head down on the desk in this quietly studious room and weep with the knowledge that they now see face to face while I am still looking into a mirror darkly.

And I once again give thanks for the lives of the Wesleys and for the faith that began with their mother Susanna's structured home life governed by prayer and study of scripture and to redeeming every possible moment.  I give thanks for the love for liturgy and preaching and decency and order that blossomed in their father Samuel's parish church in Epworth.  I give thanks for the holy boldness they inherited from both parents that sent them out into the highways and fields when the pulpits of many churches were denied them.   But I also feel deep sorrow for their seven sisters, young women of promise and intelligence and learning whose lives were curtailed by eighteenth century expectations and conventions that defined women by their sex and denied them the opportunities their brothers made such good use of.

Despite the many tragedies and painful circumstances that came their way, the Wesleys remained people of deep faith.  These were women and men who used their reason and their study of scripture and their lively conversations/arguments about theology to work out their own salvation with fear and trembling, and they didn't always agree with each other, but their foundation was always Christ, the Resurrected One, in whom they lived, moved, and had their being.  What a testimony their letters and hymns and sermons leave behind them!  What comfort that brings me and to so many others who struggle here below.

And so, under my breath, so I won't annoy the other researchers seated around me, I hum to myself and even sing the words,

Made like him, like him we rise
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies

Alleluia, indeed!

Hospitality and Welcome to All

John Wesley was a frequent communicant, and he encouraged the people called Methodists to receive the sacrament as often as possible, most notably in his sermon, "The Duty of Constant Communion." You can just imagine my delight at being able to receive communion not only on Friday at the usual New Room worship service but also on Sunday as one of those gathering for the Wesley Historical Society meeting.

Shortly before the service, I sat quietly in the Chapel, soaking in those Wesleyan vibes, if you will, and the Chaplain of the New Room, the Rev. David Weeks, came in to prepare the table. He looked up, smiled, and invited me to read the gospel during the upcoming service.  Of course I accepted. After all, I not only regularly read scripture in worship, I also lead prayers and preach.  I am, after all, an ordained United Methodist elder.

But then it suddenly hit me.  I was about to read the gospel lesson (Matthew 10: 40-42) in the world's oldest Methodist building.  I was about to help publicly lead worship in John Wesley's first chapel.  I got a lump in my throat and my eyes got misty, but when the time came, I was perfectly composed. David spoke about the importance of hospitality, referring to Jesus' words about welcoming others and giving them a cup of cold water.  I reflected on the many acts of hospitality I have experienced since coming to the UK, even though I am a stranger here.  And I thought about my country's history of welcoming the tired and poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free -- and I prayed that we, especially we Christians, will not lose sight of the importance of doing that, that we will not neglect the cup of cold water, the smile, the hand held out in love to those who find their way to us.

As I write this post, it is July 4, a day that symbolizes freedom and independence, and I cherish that. But it must be remembered that the principles of the Declaration of Independence as it appeared in 1776 were only seen to apply to a very small segment of the white male population who owned property and had a certain standing in the world.  Even now, to be female, to be non-white, to be somehow perceived as different is for many a stumbling block in the secular world and sadly, also in the world of the Church.  But when we come to this particular table, we are neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, slave nor free, nor any other kind of category.  Here, we are all one in Christ Jesus our Lord.  We are simply the children of God, those who are being saved by God's grace, blessed to be a blessing to others.

Just a thought on this 4th of July, as I sit at a desk in Manchester, England ....