by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
Light and life. Darkness and strife. Who was there to see it?
In the beginning, or so the story goes, God created the heavens and the earth.
In the beginning, or so the story goes, there was a word.
But what kind of word? What kind of word would it be? And what would this word do? Was there more than word, in the beginning with God? Was there more than one?
Perhaps not just one solitary word, but a couple, a few. Not one, but two or three.
What the camp does is challenge the church with the problem of the incarnation – that you have God who is grand and almighty, who gets born in a stable. St Paul was a tent maker. If you tried to recreate where Jesus would have been born, for me I could imagine Jesus being born in the camp.
- Rev. Giles Fraser, Former Canon Chancellor of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London UK.
I wonder if it could be true. You know, that the saviour of the world could have been born in an Occupy camp. What does that do to my imagination? What does it stir up in me? In what ways does it cause me to think?
It’s all terribly inconvenient, this Occupy nonsense. Terribly inconvenient to the way I live my life. Or it would be, if I thought about it much. If I thought about what it might represent. If I cared to think about the ways in which the stories of this kind of encampment might intersect with the story of God’s grace and mercy.
“What are these people doing,” some taunt, “don’t they have a job?“
“Couldn’t they find something better to do, like volunteering at a soup kitchen or picking up trash on the street?”
by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
Jesus was and is present on the riotous streets of London, of that I’m firmly convinced.
But whose side is he on?
Read any of the news coming out of the UK, out of her churches, and you’d believe that Jesus was on the side of the state, of law & order. And perhaps he is. It’s widely known that Jesus wouldn’t dare to turn the tables on those in power, or call the established order into question.
He wouldn’t, would he?
By the sounds of a prayer circulating throughout the Church of England, you’d think that Jesus and the state were in cahoots: Read the rest of this entry »
by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
Earlier this week, our friend Chris Heuertz (co-international director of Word Made Flesh) shared his reflections on Bin Laden’s assassination on the Q Blog:
In the spring of 1999, during NATO’s bombing of Serbia, I was in the “Tent City” in Tirana, Albania. Floods of Kosovar refugees were pouring into the camps, telling horrific stories of rape and ethnic cleansing. Something needed to be done. The Serbs had to be stopped. But as fighter jets roared above and thundering Apache helicopters flew overhead, I experienced tremendous inner conflict. Could I support violence to stop violence?
The truth is, I prefer non-violence. That’s exactly what I mean. I cannot with integrity say I’m committed to non-violence because most of the champions who’ve made this commitment don’t seem to agree on a clear definition of what they mean by “violence.” And, if the use of force to protect a vulnerable child or my wife is “violence,” then I may not be able to fully commit to non-violence in every situation.
This past weekend Osama bin Laden was assassinated, shot in the head, in what no doubt was an awful, bloody mess. Read the rest of this entry »
by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
I don’t know that I know where to begin.
“A measure of justice” said Harper.
“Very, very good news,” echoed Ignatieff.
But is it?
A stark image circulating the web over the past few days depicts two very similar victory parties. Neither of them have anything to do with the Canadian election.
The first in Palestine, taken following the 9/11 attacks. The other in DC after Osama’s assassination on May 1st. Read the rest of this entry »
by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
It’s the morning after. Some of us are ecstatic. Others less so. It’s the morning after the election, so now what? Light a cigarette?
It kinda reminds me of something. Of Easter. You know that whole thing about Jesus dying and rising again? Yeah, so that happened. Now what?
No matter what party you voted for, what happens now? Turn over the keys to whoever’s in power, and put it on auto-pilot for the next 4 years?
No matter how many services you showed up to during Holy Week, what happens now? Go on auto-pilot and let whatever happens happen? God’s got it covered, right? No need for anything more until next year. Read the rest of this entry »
by Andrew Stephens-Rennie (with special thanks to the lads in u2)
Lord Jesus Christ, we come before you this morning, in awe of your risen majesty. When all seemed bleak, when we had almost given up hope, you conquered sin and death. This morning, as we revel in disbelief, and glory in your resurrection, we pray saying
Lord, take our hearts and make them brave.
God of all, we come before you this morning with great thanks for a love that endures forever. We pray this morning for your church, that we may live as a resurrection people. As we carry the scars of Good Friday into the world, and as our church is constantly being reborn, we ask that you give us strength to minister in the midst of our ever-changing communities.
This morning we pray for your one, Holy, catholic and apostolic Church throughout the world. We pray for denominational leaders, for pastors, priests, elders, deacons and ministers, and all who witness to the good news of your life, death and resurrection with their lives.
Lord, take our hearts and make them brave. Read the rest of this entry »
A reflection on Matthew 27:57-66 and Job 14:1-14 for the Easter Vigil.
by Andrew Stephens-Rennie
God, it was awful.
I don’t know if you were there, don’t know if you care or how you’d react if you were. As for me, let me just say it again to be clear: it’s nothing if not an awful, God-forsaken mess.
All I can feel – all any of us can feel – is the oppressive weight of death. How can you not feel it hanging? The air weighs a thousand tonnes.
A millstone around my neck. Dragging me under, crushing me, striking me down. Breathless, lungs screaming for air. Like I’m hanging on the cross next to him, fighting for breath. Fluid in my lungs, salty tears filling my eyes, I can almost feel the spear in my side. It’s nothing, if not an awful, God-damned mess.
In my anguish, in this deep, wounded pain, words come to me from across the divide, across hundreds of years, and I find myself covered in ashes of mourning, echoing Job’s lament:
Poor mortal, born of woman,
few of days and full of trouble.
Comes up like a flower, a fig tree, a mustard seed,
flees like a shadow and does not last. Read the rest of this entry »
