This letter was written for our church community in Montrose Baptist Church, Scotland. It may be of interest to some who visit here. Welcome to those who do.
Dear Friends
Last week, I stood behind an elderly lady in the paper shop. She was struggling to make herself heard behind her face covering, leaning on her walking stick, and fumbling with the change in her purse to pay for her two purchases – a People’s Friend, and a Milky Way. Given physical distancing rules, the queue of several people behind me began to stretch back and round the shop. Nobody seemed that bothered. She slowly put her purse away, picked up her loot for the day, deposited them carefully in her bag, nodded to the shop assistant, and slowly moved away. As she exited right I was left with a feeling of joy at the simplicity and humanity of those two or three minutes.
On a raw morning in Inverurie, while waiting to buy my own paper, to read while having coffee at The Kilted Frog, a tiny drama of human courage played out, and shone like a light into the pervasive gloom of a year that has been hard for everyone. A queue of people, without words, and faces half covered, being patient, and an almost tangible air of kindness which was more than making allowances, and nowhere near patronising. And so a People’s Friend and a Milky Way, taken into hands with a slight tremor, became occasion of blessing for the rest of us.
I’ve thought about what was going on in those moments of encounter, when folk in a hurry slowed down, and the usual outbreaks of impatience in a retail queue were held in check. And I’ve thought about an elderly woman going down to the shop, keeping her routines and valuing the small stuff.
What was going on? Personally I think we all witnessed what happens when we opt for the common good, rather than our own rights, and when understanding and compassion for one person becomes a new strand in the fabric of our shared life in community. No, I don’t think everyone in that shop thought like that. But there are times when maybe, just maybe, the Holy Spirit creates something beautiful out of the ordinary, and when we sense the presence of Christ in the patient slowness of caring.
We are nearing Advent. It will be a Christmas like none we can remember, with all kinds of reasons to be anxious, negative, and wishing life was other than it is. Family gatherings, parties of friends and colleagues, shared meals and much else will be constrained. But there will still be Christmas. What doesn’t change is the coming of Christ into a broken world, on a dark night illumined by a star, and in the crowded resentments of a country under Roman lockdown for tax purposes.
In all the understandable anxieties and fatigue following nine months of pandemic upheaval, certain things are still true: Christ comes as Immanuel, God with us; the child is called Jesus, the saviour of the world; the angels sang of God’s promised purpose of peace on earth and good-will amongst all peoples; shepherds worshipped, wise travellers brought gifts, Mary pondered all that was happening. All still true.
There’s a lot we won’t be able to do at Christmas; but caring for others isn’t one of them. As a community of Christ we are witnesses to the love of God in the gift of Christ. Perhaps a more limited Christmas will enable us to reflect on the love of God for our broken world, and then to reflect that same love of God upon our broken world. At the close of our service last week, these words were sung:
Such love, springs from eternity
Such love, streaming through history
Such love, fountain of life to me
O Jesus, such love.
Which believe it or not, brings us all the way back from Bethlehem to Inverurie! The sense of spontaneous good-will in a newsagent’s shop is a tiny hint, no more, but no less, of what God’s purpose is for the church that represents Christ to the world. That means our words, attitudes, actions and the way we live every day, re-presents Jesus to others. To take my words above a step further, when we give our lives to Christ, and give ourselves in love to others, the Holy Spirit creates something beautiful out of the ordinary, and others will sense the presence of Christ in the patient slowness of caring.
The star of Bethlehem pointed the way to Christ. When Paul wrote to disgruntled Philippian Christians he told them they were stars. No, not the celebrity kind, the Bethlehem kind, pointing the way to Christ, telling them to live as “children of God…then you will shine among them like stars in the sky.”
During a Christmas like no other we have known, remember the connection between a People’s Friend, a Milky Way, the star of Bethlehem, and our calling as stars, pointing to Christ and shining with glory reflected from Bethlehem,
You friend and pastor,
Jim Gordon
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