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May 2010 from Revd
Simon Harvey
"Look," I said, "I really need
to be home!"
I could see from the pained expression worn by
the woman at the check-in desk that she was genuinely sorry. I took a
deep breath and took in the news that she gave me. It was hard to feel
angry with her following the cancellation of our flight. It wasn't
even the airline's fault. Without warning, baggage handlers at
Venice's Marco Polo Airport had walked out, leaving the departures
board ablaze with the repeated word "CANCELLATO" in glowing
red letters.
The airport was full of people who, like me,
"needed to be home". There were queues at the public phones,
queues for the computers in the business lounge, queues at the hire
car desks.
I needed to be in Bristol the next day to
conduct a wedding of friends. I needed to be in Oadby a day later to
preach and baptise seven children. Within minutes it became clear that
I would be able to keep neither of these important appointments.
Two weeks later, at the time of writing this
article, the skies are empty all across northern Europe, as ash from
the Eyjafjallajökull volcano has left hundreds of thousands of
passengers stranded, with little idea of when they might reach their
destinations. My delayed return from Venice prolonged our post-Easter
holiday by three days and messed up my diary. It left me feeling
wretched about being unavailable for commitments that I had made. But
it wasn't as prolonged or as uncertain as the disruption caused by the
volcanic ash cloud were for countless stranded passengers around the
world.
During last year's long walking pilgrimmage from
Paris, I discovered something unexpected. I had predicted that being a
long way from home would be difficult, at least from time to time. But
in fact it was quite exciting, as long as I was moving. Being
homeward-bound was actually quite delightful when home was getting
closer and when I knew I was making progress each day. Being stuck a
long way from home though, is different.
Jesus tells a sceptical audience a story about
homecoming. Professionally religious people were shocked that he was
socialising with the underclass. They couldn't understand why he
wasn't enforcing the kind of respectable morality that they thought he
should. So his story begins with two brothers - the older a decent,
hardworking man, the younger a waster and a rogue. The younger sibling
outrageously asks his father for his inheritance. He might as well
have wished his dad dead.
Spending his new wealth recklessly, indulging
all his appetites and dreams, he eventually slides into poverty and
despair. He's a long way from home now - both literally and
metaphorically. But he's not completely stuck, there is a way
back.
The young man remembers his father. And with
uncertain steps and a doubtful heart, he begins his homeward journey.
We can imagine the first long part of his homeward trek; how guilty,
hungry, tired and broken he was. The poignant moment in Jesus' story
occurs before the prodigal completes his journey, when his father sees
him. He isn't accepted once he's paid off his debts, nor even when
he's given a full explanation and apology. He isn't met on the
doorstep. Instead the father rushes out to meet his son while he is
still a way off. The young man is swept up into his dad's arms and
held in a long embrace. He completes his homeward journey in the
company of his loving father. While he is homeward-bound, he's met and
forgiven, restored and loved.
Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son promises
forgiveness for even the most desperate person who accepts the
restoring love of God. If this were a promise for at the end of our
lives, it would be a wonderful assurance. But the stunning grace which
is at work here is even more wonderful because it's for now, for those
of us who aren't yet home but who are travelling slowly and
hopefully.
Airport chaos perfectly demonstrates something
about the times in which we live. Modern airports are busy places,
brightly lit, full of promise and stashed with what the in-flight
magazines call "opportunities to purchase". But close the
departure gates and the pain is apparent within moments. Because no
one is at home at an airport. And while the departure boards are red,
no one is homeward-bound. "We're stuck. It's sheer hell."
said one desperate passenger to reporters.
With volcanic ash in the skies, the air traffic
lanes paralysed and governments uncertain, some people are yet
managing to make progress, finding their own unofficial routes through
the logjam. Lifts have been offered. When good news about ferry
crossings or rail tickets is discovered, it is quickly shared on
social networks. When I was stuck in Venice, we saw similar small
kindnesses that made things much better. Fellow travellers, who had
been strangers jostling for places in the queues began sharing news,
offering help, lending mobile phones and generously indicating where
the rare hotel rooms could be found. The sympathy was real and the
help practical. Which makes me wonder again about desperate souls who
long to get back to God.
The professional religionists of Jesus' day had
blocked the homeward-bound journeys of ordinary people. They had
barred the routes which might lead to redemption for the poor and the
outcast. The task for the Church in our day is to get alongside those
who are stuck and bewildered, to bring encouragement and hope, and to
pass on the whispered good news that there is a way start a
homeward-bound journey with God.
Simon Harvey
February Letter from Revd
Simon Harvey
Faith is political
Even before we finished the mince pies and sang
Auld Lang Syne the press began to speak of this as Election Year.
Unlike the United States and many other democracies, the governing
party chooses a date for a General Election, subject to an absolute
limit of five years. So whatever else this year brings, we can be sure
that on or before my forty-seventh birthday, the third of June, the
great British electorate will be invited to cast its votes.
I know that for some readers, the prospect of
months of driving past billboards on which party leaders beam their
white-teethed smiles is deeply depressing. Many people do not look
forward to daily media reports of debate about policy and
personality.
"Politics" itself has become a rather
grubby word. And it's getting worse. Thanks to the scandal of MPs
expenses, politicians are treated by many with as much appreciation as
car park clampers, or bankers. A record number have already announced
that they have enough, and won't be seeking our votes for their
re-election.
True, the quality of the argument is sometimes
likely to be depressing. We shall probably weary of the distortion of
opponents' policies, groan at the crass sloganeering, and roll our
eyes at the weak jokes. But could it just be that we get the politics
we deserve?
This is, of course, a chicken-and-egg kind of a
situation. Which comes first? Misbehaviour by politicians, or a
disengaged electorate? If the stakes were small, say limited to the
careers of a few hundred ambitious individuals, it probably wouldn't
matter so much. But politics, whatever we feel about it, is serious
stuff.
Politics is the decision-making process in which
choices are made that affect us all. It involves the negotiation of
ideas. It gives legitimate powers and holds authority to account. It
listens to grievances, creates and restrains freedoms, sets priorities
and makes investments for the welfare of individuals and communities.
It's hardly unimportant.
There's a particular tendency among the English
to treat politics a bit like religion, as though both are somehow
essentially private matters, inappropriate for conversation unless one
is sure one is among like-minded friends. Perhaps our bloody history
makes our national psyche more nervous than other nations in talking
openly about our political views and our personal faith. There are
families in which neither are spoken about. Some husbands and wives
don't talk about how they vote or how they pray.
The challenge at the start of an election year
for Christians, is not a simple matter of asking which way Jesus would
vote. For one thing, we can be sure no single party perfectly embodies
the values of the Kingdom of God, and no party official, MP or Prime
Minister will be perfect. But neither should we give up on the
political process.
Let's be thankful that there still are men and
women who are motivated to seek office for the sake of public service.
Let's appreciate that while cynicism and manipulation play their part
in every democratic system, our MPs generally seek to change things
for the better.
To follow Jesus seriously means being concerned
about the way that our society is ordered. His first followers did not
bow to earthly powers and declare "Caesar is Lord!" But they
did understand that matters of justice, poverty, inclusion, freedom
and equality were vital faith issues. In our day a loving Christian
response to the issues is not withdrawal from the political sphere.
It's to engage, listen, discuss and to participate. The minimum we
should do is cast our votes.
Finally, let me go one stage further and dare to
suggest how you should vote in 2010: prayerfully and selflessly.
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