Blessed are the merciful

God, teach me mercy.

Show me others through your eyes.

Help me to see beneath the mask, the words, and the actions.

Let me see the person you created from the outpouring love of your heart.

God, teach me mercy.

Show me how to care, to forgive, to have patience, forbearance, tolerance, compassion.

God, teach me mercy.

Let me be slow to judge.

Let me be slow to anger.

Help me to not seek vengeance.

God, teach me mercy.

Help me to love my enemies.

Help me to acknowledge our differences without condemnation or compromise.

God, teach me mercy.

May I never forget the incredible mercy you have shown to me.

May I never take it for granted.

May my soul overflow with praise and gratitude.

May words of thankfulness and blessing be on my lips.

May your mercy and grace sustain me all of my days.

God, teach me mercy.

Blessed are the meek

Gentle Jesus meek and mild

But was it a meek man who threw the traders out of the temple?

Was it showing meekness to compare the Pharisees with whitewashed tombs full of dead men’s bones?

Was it demonstrating submissiveness to break the law by forgiving sins, gathering food on the Sabbath, or mingling with sinners?

Was it meek to fight injustice, to stand up for the poor and disenfranchised?

Yet.

He was meek when they abused him, when they whipped him, when they led him to the cross. At this, the greatest injustice in history, the one man who had a right to say, ‘No, stop, this isn’t fair,’ took the punishment.

Not my will but yours

A rallying call to God’s children.

The meek fight battles for those who can’t

stand side by side with the outcast

wash the feet of the dirty

shed tears for the fatherless

defend the unlovely

care for the lost.

The meek are not downtrodden but strong

Not submissive but clear of vision

Not passive but passionate

The meek don’t take unfairness lying down

But take their stand with

Gentle Jesus meek and mild

Blessed are those who mourn

Blessed

are those who

mourn for they know

what it is to love. They have trodden in the footsteps

of Christ.

Blessed are the poor in spirit

I am spiritually bankrupt.

The store of good deeds I keep under the bed is all used up.

The brownie points in the safety deposit box have been declared null and void.

Even my secret numbered Swiss bank account, the repository for my gold stars, has been closed for lack of deposits.

I have nothing.

So I am blessed.

But even as I write this I wonder, do I really believe it?

That there is truly nothing I can do?

Isn’t there a bit of me that thinks surely the patience I used in my dealings with my boss must be rewarded?

God must be watching me when I insist on fairtrade tea.

My generosity must earn me a better seat at the feast.

It must.

And isn’t that easier to accept?

That I can earn if not my way then at least a trouble-free passage into heaven.

An ABC of boxes to tick.

Didn’t swear when provoked by a stupid man driver: tick.

Did make extra effort to deal gently with my mother-in-law: tick.

Did make time for a friend when I didn’t really have time: tick.

Didn’t feel proud of myself for that act of nobility: cross.

And I find myself again at the cross, aware that even these superficialities of behaviour don’t even scratch the surface of my sinful self.

And at the cross I kneel,

Head bowed, empty handed, acknowledging my need

Wanting to believe

Wanting to accept

Wanting to be accepted

Wondering why it’s so hard to

Accept

Believe

That I can be

Accepted

Forgiven

Loved.

Not through me

But through you

In whom my treasure lives.

For my rainbow child

I pray that your life will be red.

That you will feel the warmth of the sun even on the darkest days because you will know you are loved.

That the heat of the love in which you’re enveloped will radiate out to those you meet.

That you will be cosseted against the storms as if wrapped in a duvet of the softest down.

That your heart – even though it may break – will never grow cold but will stay forever warm.

I pray that your life will be green.

That each day will be a fresh adventure for you.

That the world in all its aspects, from the smallest ant on a stone to huge breakers crashing on the shore, will never cease to be new and amazing to you.

That every morning for you will be the first day of spring.

I pray that your life will be purple.

That you will know passion that stretches and burns and aches and reaches for more.

That your heart will never be accepting of things that need to change.

That your spirit will rise to the challenges to be found by those who seek them.

That your soul will find fulfilment in the everyday, the ordinary.

That the ordinary will, to you and through you and with you, be extraordinary.

I pray that your life will be yellow.

That each day will be laughterday.

That you will find smiles in the small things, giggles in the silly and laughter in the foolish.

That your footprints will be inlaid with love and laughter so that whoever walks in them will feel better for having passed that way.

I pray that your life will be blue.

That you will know peace, the serenity of one who is loved.

That the reassurance that comes from that knowledge will allow you to love the unlovely.

That days of excitement will mingle easily with days of calm, when you return to the shelter of unconditional love to find waters to refresh your body, your heart and your spirit.

I pray that your life will be orange.

That your future will be brighter than you have ever dreamed.

That you’ll dare to dream ever bigger dreams, knowing that God is in them.

And with your hand in his I pray that you’ll stand on top of mountains and shout: I am loved.

For as sure as the rainbow is God’s promise to us so is the certainty that you are loved.

Twenty-second May, 2001

My mother would have been eighty today.

I only realise this sitting in college listening to a reading.

The poet, a tiny American professor, is speaking

of her mother’s seventieth birthday.

I don’t recall the poem.

Earlier the same day my son calls.

His sister has told him to, he says.

She’s worried because I’m sad.

Tangled threads, twisted together.

Meaning and reason

hidden in a knot.

After the bubble burst, and the thick red liquid

flooded the rivers of your mind,

drowning your memories,

you said to me, ‘You’re not Peter, are you?

you look like Peter.’

You forgot my name.

And now I have forgotten you.

Did you prefer tea or coffee? Red wine or white?

What was your favourite colour? Or flower?

Did you still dream of could-have-beens or

glimpse happiness from the upstairs windows of buses?

You loved to garden, I remember that,

to nurture and to tend. To party.

Eighty is worth a party. Tonight

we would have celebrated and I’d have

watched you gathering my children around you,

your eyes full of pride and love.

No hint now of past illusions.

If I choose to tread thorny paths,

or return to unlit rooms

will I find out who you were or why I am?

But for now I’ll do as the professor says.

‘Do something with it,’ she says, ‘you must.’

Worship

Wednesday

Got up. Made porridge and sandwiches. Dressed. Took children to school. Went to Sainsburys. Came home. Resisted temptation to leave shopping on kitchen floor and unpacked bag after bag after bag of shopping. Listened to the Archers. Walked the dog. Fetched children from school. Cooked dinner. Took son to football training. Fetched son from football training. Watched TV. Went to bed. Fell in gratefully, relieved to have got through another day. Thank God.

Thank God for his gift of the Holy Spirit who gave me the courage to get out of bed this morning.

Thank God for quashing the unknowable fears that overtake my mind at the prospect of a trip to the supermarket.

Thank Jesus that his name, silently mouthed in the frozen foods aisle, is a refuge from terror which threatens.

Thank God for the wonder of his creation and the dog whose need for exercise forces me to step out of myself.

Thank God today for the violets, fragile delicate blooms, not intimidated by more powerful neighbours and hard winter conditions. Against the odds, they return renewed and beautiful, time after time, a triumph of hope over reality.

Thank God for the victories of the day, small, insignificant though they appear, they made the difference.

This then is my life today.

So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life — your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-round life — and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him.

This then is my offering, my worship.

A litany of fears and anxieties; a shambling, pathetic offering to God.

I stand before him, a shuffling cripple, and say, ‘Take me as I am, I can come no other way.’ Weak and helpless, I can do no more, or no less, than call on him.

And in response he walks beside me, he holds my hand, he carries me. He wipes my tears and understands my fears - fears I don’t understand myself.

And he is triumphant. He turns my weakness into his strength. He offers hope that things can change.

Then I will go to the altar of God, to God, my joy and my delight. I will praise you with the harp, O God, my God. Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my saviour and my God.

(Psalm 43:4-5)

(Romans 12:1 Therefore I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God – this is your spiritual act of worship)