Scottish Skies

I have a special love for Scottish skies. They go a long way towards compensating for the vagaries of the weather – the skies are usually interesting and often beautiful. Had to stop the car last night and snap a picture of the mother-of-pearl cloud effect swirling round a slowly sinking sun. I understand the effect is due to partially frozen water particles in the clouds, refracting the sunlight. Very nice.

The black swatch in the foreground looks pregnant with rain but it passed overhead without a drop falling on me. 

We are (finally) concluding a referendum campaign, during which both sides have threatened all sorts of black clouds filled with disastrous consequences should we vote the wrong way. It is an important decision, but it is not a choice between light and dark but between shades of grey, swirling in a maelstrom of atmospheric winds. Sometimes the atmosphere has been almost poisonous, but often there have been dignified discussions as folk have expressed their reasons for their stance. It comes down to priorities.

Jesus is the way and the truth and the life. Whichever way we choose to vote, he is the light of the world, for which he died.

Fruitless

I’m just in from weeding round each individual raspberry cane, because they were so overwhelmed by buttercups and clover and things that I couldn’t even see some of the shorter canes.

What was revealed was that several of them are absolutely dead. They were so overgrown with weeds, though, that I was unaware of that fact and assumed that beneath the canopy of green there was a thriving, or at least surviving, rasp cane which, if not productive this year, promised to be productive in the future. How wrong I was.

It makes me think that there are undoubtedly areas in my life which I assume are thriving and getting ready to bear fruit, when in fact their deadness is hidden by a busy overgrowth of activity. I think it’s time to pull back the busyness and check the underlying health of my commitments, activities, and dreams.

Slugs and snails...

The annual effort to grow our own veggies is looking rather grim. Although the lettuce and spinach have sprouted, those which I’ve transplanted into the soil have largely disappeared despite all my efforts to hold the monopods at bay. 

The ones waiting in the seed trays are waterlogged from the deluges of last week. I know that there is farming in my ancestry but it sure isn’t apparent.

Jesus told a parable about planting, but maybe it pertained more to an arid climate than to a Scottish one. He missed out the seed that fell on soil that swarmed with hungry snails and slugs. There, all were devoured except those surrounded by chemical slug killer. Then there was the seed which was carefully nurtured in seed trays, but the trays had no drainage and the seedlings became inundated and eventually root bound.

Make of that what you will! For myself, I see some people I know struggling to hang on despite the attacks of slimy predators, who are hungry for the tender leaves of growing faith. They need the protection of older Christians praying but proactively coming alongside and repelling the temptations, doubts, and insinuations which can eat away at faith until it is no longer there.

I see others whose faith keeps them firmly planted in a safe church setting. Good worship and teaching need to be shared, passed on, worked out within the community and world in which we live. Without regular ‘drainage’ we become complacent, fat and root-bound. We cease growing and eventually shrivel and die.

Monday morning is here. Time to be out there sharing God’s goodness with those who are hurting and fragile in faith, and those who are yet to meet Jesus.

The old rugged cross

The old rugged cross. Jesus hung on an ugly tree and suffered the worst execution men could dream up. And yet, through that act of ugliness and brutality emerged beauty and redemption and life everlasting.

What was unspeakably horrible, in the hands of our loving heavenly Father, became a touchstone with the divine, a doorway through which we can enter into that precious, amazing relationship which the Trinity longed for. 

This has been a week of shocking terror, a week in which sin broke through in all its despicability. My mind cannot fathom how God will redeem what was lost, but I believe it is exactly what he will do as we cry out to him.

As Tony preached this morning, God loved the world so much he gave his only, beloved son. He wanted to rescue us from the power of darkness, and the light of the world has broken through. 

May the fragrance of Jesus remind us of his love and may his light transform our despair and fill us with hope as we trust in him.

Day follows Night

Sometimes our lives are hijacked by unexpected events and we don’t see how we can go on. Hearts broken; future flat-lining; cried-out and numb. 

 

But the rhythm of life continues its cadence and a new normal takes over. 

 

In every teardrop, a rainbow. God so loved the world, he gave his Son. Not because the world was perfect, but because without his Son, we are lost. And he didn’t want to lose us. 

 

Amazing love.

 

Grace. Love. Mercy. We need his Holy Spirit to fill us with these virtues now.

 

Jo Cox risked her life to stand with the vulnerable. May we all continue that legacy.

Broken Hearts

Peace. 

There is palpable peace when one sits beside a field of cows munching their way through the grass. 

The world is so filled with horror and sorrow; it is good to find a safe haven in which to rest and listen to the faithful rhythm of the Father’s loving heart, which continues its cadence though it is breaking.

God loved the world so much that he sent his only Son to save us from ourselves. Hosanna. Hosanna. 

Be with those tonight whose hearts are breaking.