Immanuel

God in our mess.
In our carrying on nevertheless.
In our working out plan B.
In our "is this the way it has to be?"
In the sinking of our heart.
In our ideals falling apart.
In our wishing for togetherness.
In our very real brokenness.

God become baby.
Born into circumstances hazy.
Born into territory occupied.
Born into nation's hopes unsatisfied.
Born into complicated family.
Born into baggage and a history.
Born into love and deep affection.
Born into heart-wrenching rejection.

God living our humanity.
Stepping into our calamity.
Joining us in suffering.
Adding his tears to the offering.
Healing us from our distress.
Covering our nakedness.
Sticking around, never to leave us.
Immanuel, our God is with us.

Heart ache heals.

I found an old poem in a notebook, barely remember writing it.

There’s an ache that turns to anger,

The ache of a child ignored.

Fresh bitterness of rejection

Strikes an old resounding chord.

The indignance at the suggestion

That she isn’t worth the time

Awakens  dull notes of abandonment

Which in her heart still chime.

The question ‘Am I special?’

And a silent answer returned

Remind her of a teenager

Who painful lessons learned.

But these days, she’s found a Someone

Who takes her anger and her pain,

Who knows her wounds already

And how to heal her heart again.

Who heard each lie that she believed

And saw each lonely night,

Who steps up to battle beside her

So she’s not alone to fight.

Her father's love burns fiercely,
Angry that her heart has been attacked.

But against her pain he wins the victory,

And claims his daughter back. 

One Body - CEYC poem

[I spent this weekend at the Church of England Youth Council meeting, which was great - I'll probably have something more to write about it later. As part of the worship for this morning, I wrote this poem - it's based on 1 Corinthians 12:12-26, and I hope it reflects something of the strong desire that the whole council felt for unity despite, and perhaps because of, diversity.]

We are many people, we are many parts,
But we are one body, with one beating heart.
We have different passions, each with our own gifts,
But our unity runs deeper than superficial rifts.
Baptised in to Christ, whoever we are,
His love has drawn close strangers who were far.
Not one unimportant, not one valued less,
So the strong work together, the weaker to bless.
God's brought us together, not left on our own.
When one part is hurting, it can't suffer alone.
But the body is to comfort and commit to each other,
Bearing the burdens of our sisters and brothers.
As our voices join and one song we sing,
We proclaim to the world that Jesus is king.

Gut reaction

[My gut reaction to the vote against the women bishops motion at General Synod last night. I might have something more intelligible to say at some point...]

Tired, God.
Eyes, red raw.
Head fuzzy.
Too many questions.

How could you let this and what do you want and when will it ever and is it even right?
And why so divided and what is the answer and why does your Church have to cause pain and fight?

Exhausted, Father.
Pounding drum inside.
Doubts bubble.
Is it worth it?

Why so many churches and is there just one and how do you speak and do we know how to hear?
And do we trust our leaders and and do we know we're right and when it's all hopeless, God will you be near?

Feel small, Lord.
Nothing smart to say.
They talk so loud.
I'm just one.

You've made us a body and we are connected, do we love one another and do we feel each other's pain?
And can we still commit and will we live out humble service and will you strengthen your Church to come together again?

Commitment.
You challenge and call us.
Deny self, follow you.
Any cost, any pain.
Restless hearts need peace.
Need you.
Help please.

Feet in high heeled shoes

As a kid my parents told me “you can be whatever you choose,”

So I dreamt of being a singer and learning to walk in high heeled shoes.

And I started a fashion company, and I designed football kits for dogs

(Yeah, really I did, it combined all of my passions in one ideal job).

Then I looked around me and saw a planet that needed saving,

So in my infants school, I "saved the daisies" by making everyone walk on the paving.

I gave assemblies on human trafficking because I thought my school needed to be told

That even in this day and age, there are people being bought and sold.

I wanted to change the world, and more than anything I still do,

But as I grew up I realised that I didn’t just love the sound of my own voice,

I love God’s people too.

As I met a God who knows me and loves me and stuck with me through a whole load of mess,

I could see no better reason to live than to give myself to bless

The broken and the hurting and those who don’t know him still,

And to encourage those who do, as together we seek his will,

And as we build each other up and as we gather round his word,

I want to sing the loudest, to make sure his praises will be heard.

I want to be part of it, at the heart of it, and though its a massive learning curve,

If God will use me despite my weakness, it’s his church I want to serve.

So as a woman I’m frustrated that it's still now being debated

As to whether my field of service will stay ring fenced and gated.

See, I’m not trying to argue that Jesus had a modern feminist agenda,

But that he radically liberated women from societal expectations of our gender.

I get that those who oppose it are trying to stay true to God’s word

But if you’re questioning my motives, above all let this be heard:

"Whoever wants to be an overseer, he desires a noble task"

So why is it career-driven, selfish ambition when its she who dares to ask?

No, I love the Bible too, and everything it’s got to say,

I don’t want to ignore Paul, or just to run the church my way,

But when I’ve looked at the cultural context of what Paul said on women leading

I think his prohibitions were context specific, and that's my most sincere reading.

Today I think he’d want to see all hands set to the gospel’s task

Served by an army of faithful bishops whose gender no one thinks to ask.

So let’s get on with being Christ’s body, in trainers, deck shoes or high heels,

Let’s be the feet who take good news to a world he longs to heal.

And when it comes to where and how I’ll serve, it’ll be God who gets to choose

But I long to do it in a church where women bishops are old news.

Nameless night time poem.

There's a stirring that I don't understand,
When compassion is the last thing I feel.
A deep longing to take part in your plan.
A heavy weight that pushes me to kneel... 

Move me to pray for a world that is hurting,
Torn and divided but still we're flirting
With power and fame,
Seduced without shame,
By empty promises that house
But a dying flame. 
For our cult of the self,
Our addiction to wealth,
We're sorry and we turn to cry
We need your help. 
Move us to repent,
For even as the ones you've sent,
We're tempted by a gospel 
That was never what you meant. 
Take the shackles off our feet,
Release our tongues to pray,
To intercede for a broken world
And with our lives now to obey.
Fill us, send us, guide us, use us.
Bring your kingdom near us.
Build your kingdom now on earth,
Your will be done, God, hear us.