The Gospel of Mary Magdalene

Wild garlic filling the vacuum.

I recently came across the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, a short text that wasn’t included in the New Testament canon when the council of Nicaea met just over 1700 years ago. It contains some beautiful words that bring me great joy, given my love of inner and outer gardening. Let me share a few of them with you:

The Saviour answered: “All that is created, everything that is formed, every natural thing, all exist interdependently in and with each other. Then each will be dissolved again back into its own roots. It is [the way of] nature that everything will eventually decompose back into its own elements. Those who have ears, let them hear…This is why the Good has come into your midst, pursuing [the Good] which is in everyone’s true nature, to restore it inward to its root.”

You can read the full text here.

Make disciples of all nations?

New life pushing its way up through the darkness and into the light

Matthew 28:18-20

These verses at the end of Matthew have long been understood as a command for Christians to get out there and convert people. Not just our friends and neighbours, but people in far-off countries, right to the ends of the earth. The call to evangelise people who don’t want it is difficult enough, but worse than that, the history of Christian missions is intertwined with the history of colonialism. Is there a way to interpret these verses in a more life-giving way?

A disciple is someone who follows a leader, who seeks to learn from them, to live like them, to imitate the good things about them. I suggest that this is mostly behavioural, and that what a disciple actually believes about the ontological nature of their leader only matters in as far as it affects their behaviour. Making disciples is more about supporting and encouraging people to follow a certain path – expressed in these verses as obeying Jesus’s commands. This is where it gets interesting. What did Jesus actually command? Compared to the volumes of theological statements made over the years, he commanded remarkably little, and the few commands he gave seem to be grounded in love, for example:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” Matthew 22:37-39

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. John 13:34

But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Matthew 5:44

In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets. Matthew 7:12

These are values that, were they adopted worldwide, would result in massive changes for the better. This isn’t a list of religious tenets to believe in, these are commands to follow the way of love as incarnated in Christ. This is what we are called to encourage and support in others.

The other potential sticking point is the matter of baptism. This symbolic act marks a major life transition, traditionally a turning away from sin and turning to Christ – couched in the extreme terms of dying to sin and rising to new life (although for many of us the turn from darkness to the light is more gradual.) The important thing is the turning from darkness to light, turning away from a destructive way of life to a more constructive one, not the marking of that turn, helpful though that may be.

What then might this mean in practise? To make disciples of Christ in a culture that is hostile to Christianity or that has a different spiritual identity, we need to interpret our understanding of Christ and his commands into language and concepts that make sense. For people who already adhere to some sort of religion or philosophy, this might mean supporting them to dig deeper. For someone with no obvious interest in spirituality, it might mean encouraging them to reflect on their inner life, to consider what their values are and how they might want to live them out more fully. We can encourage others to seek the gift of a rich spiritual life, but I don’t think we need to feel obliged to insist that people ascribe to a certain set of beliefs. Discipleship is about following the way of love, and that can be expressed in as many different ways are there are human beings.

Brace/embrace

Spring is officially the best season.

Rainer Maria Rilke’s beautiful poem Go to the Limits of Your Longing contains the striking words:

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

They inspire me to live life in a stance of openness, with arms outstretched to welcome what comes, and the flexibility to absorb the shocks. A position of embrace. However, recently I have been a million miles from that. Rather, I am holding myself in brace position, permanently tensed up and ready to defend myself against the next problem that comes. This is entirely counterproductive, as a rigid structure cannot absorb shocks but rather shatters, and in my case this is being expressed in chronic lower back pain that I don’t seem able to shift.

How I respond to events will not change their essential nature of beauty or terror, but whether I hold myself in brace or embrace position will affect how I live my response. It might help me to live in embrace position if I fully take on board that God is holding me safe in her womb and that a spiritual ‘umbilical chord’ deep inside of me connects me with the Divine, whether I feel it or not.

Protestant guilt and Ignatian desire

An embarrassment of riches!

I seem to bear a lot of ‘protestant guilt’. For a long time, my anchor text was Luke 12:48 From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded – aware that I have been given so much, I have felt under a constant obligation to give more of myself, without much consideration for my own well-being. This kind of thinking made it extremely difficult to say no to a request when I had the time and capacity to answer it. All these obligations crowded out my soul to the point that I couldn’t hear what she needed. I repeatedly ended up overwhelmed, overworked and resentful – the only thing that saved me was moving house or even country!

Ignatian spirituality is teaching me that I need to clear away these obligations so that my soul is free to breathe. That I need to let go of the idea that I can somehow assuage my guilt by taking on duties that I might be good at but do not find life-giving. As I shed such activities, a free and unencumbered space opens up within me, from where I may discern the true calling of my heart. In times when I am acting in tune with the desire of my heart, I feel light, peaceful, in the flow, even joyful – in harmony with the Holy Spirit within me. At such times it seems I am both following my calling and doing something I enjoy, as Frederick Buechner famously said, vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.

But I can’t help circling back to my deep sense of responsibility – how dare I enjoy my life when so many others are suffering? Isn’t there more that I ought to be doing? At such times, I reflect on a forest walk I once took alongside a small stream. The water was flowing down a slight incline; for long stretches it moved very slowly in wide clear pools, then suddenly dropping into a cascade of rushing, foaming chaos. When life feels like a still pool – with peace and joy and all the good things – rather than feeling guilty, this is a time to rejoice, to be thankful and to dig into the goodness, gathering up the graces of the moment into my inner storehouse. After all, sooner or later, I will surely be rudely interrupted by the next cascade of life’s troubles. As Jesus says in Matthew 6:34 do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

If I am to take this Ignatian desire seriously, perhaps it’s time for a new anchor text, how about these words from Matthew 11:29-30 . Take my yoke upon you… for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light?

Become still

Life is full of complexity at the moment. A change in the weather and the sight of these fabulous snowdrops has significantly lifted my mood.

Before we pray, it can help to become still, to quieten our hearts and minds and make ourselves available to listen to the whisperings of the Spirit. I invite you to try out the stilling I’ve written below, but do it slowly, taking all the time you need at each stage to fully be with the experience:

Start by making sure that you are sitting comfortably, with your back supported and your feet on the ground.
Close your eyes, or lower and soften your gaze.
Notice your breathing, but do not change it.
Take a few deep breaths.
Become aware of the life-giving oxygen entering your body as you breathe in and of the carbon dioxide you breathe out, which feeds the plants and trees around you.
Life entering your body, and the potential for new life leaving your body.
Notice how your body feels.
Starting with the top of your head and flowing down through your whole body.
Pause at any places of tension or pain, and offer that pain up to God.
Notice how you are feeling today, and offer those feelings up to God.
Become aware of God in whom you live and breathe and have your being.
Become aware of God who is found deep within you.
And rest in that space.

Stressing over seeds

Some spinach holding its own against the cold of the winter and visits from the pheasant.

As part of our house hunting efforts, last Sunday we visited a church that sits five minutes from a place we have our eye on. This was a very friendly, welcoming congregation and would be very convenient, but I know that it isn’t for us. Apart from not being my preferred style of worship, which perhaps I ought to be able to get over, I was put off by the altar call with a sinners’ prayer beginning ‘despite deserving outer darkness…’ and an injunction to the rest of us to get out there and evangelise.

My reading for this morning was the growing seed. It paints a picture of a mysterious process, whereby seed sown grows on its own, without any effort on the part of the farmer, resulting in a harvest that just needs to be gathered in. The farmer doesn’t go out to his field every day and fret over the seeds, he doesn’t coax, threaten or cajole then into sprouting and growing – he trusts that the mysterious alchemy of soil, sun and moisture will do its work.

Perhaps this is just my personal bias against evangelism, forged in the conflict between the expectations of certain forms of churchmanship and my own introversion, shyness and hatred of conflict, but trying to persuade people to become Christian feels like a farmer fretting over his seeds. It feels like so much stressful labour with, I suspect, diminishing returns these days.

It looks like our job is to sow seeds and gather the harvest. That will look a little different for each one of us, and might even mean standing on street corners for some, but definitely not for me.

Looking in the wrong places

This handsome gentleman is a new regular in my garden. He has been enjoying spilled grain from the birdfeeder and my tasty spinach plants.

This is a reflection for Epiphany, on the passages Matthew 2:1-12 and Ephesians 3:1-12.

The story of the magi is a familiar part of the Christmas narrative. However, unlike those other Christmas visitors, the shepherds, the magi get an extra Sunday all to themselves. This is because the Christ-child was revealed to the magi even though they were not part of the people of Israel. This story declares the revelation of Christ to the Gentiles, which includes us and the vast majority of the church today. We don’t know much about these mysterious characters from the East, but we do know that they started out on their journey with a clear goal in mind: to find the newborn king of the Jews and to pay him homage. Fortunately, they had a star to guide them, which they followed westwards to Israel. I’m not going to go into the practicality of using a star for navigation, so I ask you to accept this symbol at face value.

Given everything the magi knew about royalty and kingship, they took the next most obvious and sensible step – after arriving in Israel, they went to make their enquiries in the capital Jerusalem. Herod, the ruler of the time, caught wind of this and summoned them to his palace. After discussions with them and with his advisors, Herod decided to use the magi to gain intelligence about this potential threat to the throne, so he sent them to the place the prophets had foretold the Messiah would be born. Herod redirected the magi from the seat of power, the capital Jerusalem, to rural village called Bethlehem. Tragically, the magi’s initial search in the capital wasn’t without consequence, because alerting Herod to a potential threat to his throne set in motion the terrible sequence of events that culminating in the massacre of the innocents.

After leaving Herod’s palace, the magi caught sight of the star once more and followed it until they reached their destination. We can be pretty confident that they would have been surprised by what they found. We know from the gospel of Luke that Jesus was laid in a manger, which implies that he was found in a place where people and animals were living in close proximity – this would have been normal for ordinary people, but not for royalty. While the magi’s goal was unchanged, the direction of the journey itself was radically altered: instead of finding the new king in a royal palace they found him in an ordinary home. Instead of finding a king who would wield power over others, they found one who was humble, poor and lowly. Despite this unexpected turn of events, the magi recognised that they had reached their goal and were overwhelmed with joy.

Our other reading for Epiphany comes from a letter written by Paul to the church in Ephesus. Paul is famous for having his own dramatic journey, although his journey was spiritual rather than geographical. We understand from Paul’s letter to the Galatians that his goal in life had been to express his devotion to God by upholding the traditions of his fathers in the faith. This meant living a life of holiness, obeying the law, and eliminating heresy; implicit in this was that Gentiles were excluded from the worship of God. Paul pursued his goal by enthusiastically persecuting the early church, which he understood to be teaching a dangerous heresy. On the road to Damascus, where Paul had been traveling to eliminate the church that met there, he was famously struck blind, and, in a vision of Christ, realised his spiritual blindness and had his whole life redirected towards a new understanding of what devotion to God should look like.

Like the magi, Paul had a clear and noble goal for his life. The behaviour of both the magi and Paul was shaped by their understanding of their goals: the magi ended up in Herod’s palace, resulting in the massacre of the innocents and Paul (or Saul as he was known then) brutally attacked the Christian community. The magi were redirected from the capital to find the King of the Jews in a humble dwelling; on the Damascus road, Paul was redirected from persecuting the church to championing it. Central to Paul’s reorientation was the mystery hidden for ages in God that he describes in his letter to the Ephesians – this mystery was the equal inclusion of the gentiles in the family of God. This was no trivial matter, this mystery was so outrageous that it had to be shown to Paul by ‘revelation’, it’s not something he would ever have dreamt up as it went against everything he so fervently believed.

So, what does all this have to do with us? Our lives are, on the whole, far more mundane and undramatic than those of Paul and the Magi. And yet, perhaps we also can trace this same pattern of setting out with a goal in mind, only to get to a crisis point where our path is redirected and our goal reframed, and after which our lives are never the same again. I imagine that most of us set out to live a ‘good’ and fulfilling life. I wonder how you frame the purpose of your life at the moment?

When we lived in Sweden, people talked about the aim of life being to attain the three v’s: Volvo, villa, vovve – a nice car, a decent house and a dog. Domestic bliss. For others it might be travelling the globe, learning everything they possibly can about a particular subject, or contributing to the betterment of the world in one way or another. If we absorb the messages of consumer culture, we might seek a better phone, a nicer house, smoother skin or any number of things that promise to bring happiness and fulfilment. Ultimately our souls long for God, as expressed in a desire for wholeness, peace, and love. We may be consciously aware of this or not, or we might give it a different name entirely, but union with God is our deepest need. As human beings, we have a multitude of ways to interpret this goal, and in our brokenness some are less constructive than others.

Through the trials and tragedies of life, and the mere fact of spending more years on this earth, the journey of our life takes many twists and turns. At these points of reorientation, our ideas are refined and our assumptions challenged, the things we once held dear are reassessed and redefined. Although these can be difficult experiences, they are also opportunities to align ourselves more closely with God’s calling on our lives. The Magi followed their calling when they set out to follow the star, and were overwhelmed with joy when they found the newborn king. We too can feel a sense of joy when follow our vocation, that place where our giftings and desires meet the needs of the world. However, just as the Magi got derailed along the way and needed redirecting, we too can get derailed at times – we need to keep listening and discerning the way forward.

My own journey has not been linear. A few years ago, I followed the discernment process for ordination, convinced that this was how I could best fulfil my purpose of serving God’s people with the gifts God had given me. It took reaching the final selection stage only to be told I wasn’t ready, and then an abandoned second attempt, for me to realise that this wasn’t the path God was leading me on. Although it was painful and confusing at the time, I now feel much freer to serve God’s people in ways that are better aligned with the gifts God has given me. I sometimes wonder how I got it so ‘wrong’, but I also realise that this was a process I needed to go through. The Magi probably needed Herod to point them in the direction of Bethlehem. Paul certainly needed a crisis of loss of sight to realise that he had been spiritually blind. These twists and turns of our lives, which are difficult at the time, are an important part of our story.

How you understand the twists and turns of your life? In retrospect, can you see where God was at work? The magi had a star to lead them to the Christ-child, what helps you to keep open and listening to the voice of God?

Christmas carols

A Palestinian nativity scene. Life is particularly difficult for the small Christian community in the West Bank, let us remember them in our prayers.

At our lovely Christmas Eve service, I had a strong reaction to the contrasting words of two of the carols that we sang. Both carols were inspired by passages of scripture, but conjured rather different images of God and perspectives on the incarnation.

The first was Lo! he comes with clouds descending to which I had an instinctively negative reaction. Partly I think this is because of the emphasis on a triumphal return of Christ to earth at some indeterminate time in the future, rather than on his presence with us now, and partly because the language of thrones, power and glory sounds too much like a human idea of what the reign of God will be like. Also, while I appreciate the mourning over the crucifixion in verse 2, I struggle to get on board with verse 3’s rapturous gazing upon the scars of Christ.

The second was Of the Father’s love begotten, which is apparently based on the poem, Corde natus ex parentis by Marcus Aurelius C. Prudentius, who was born in Northern Spain in 348 AD. It appealed to me because of its cosmic vision, it talks of the Alpha and the Omega – that sense of Christ encompassing the beginning and the end. It speaks of the creation, and the beautiful words:

All that grows beneath the shining
Of the moon and burning sun

appeal to me as a gardener. It inspires with visions of ancient seers and prophets and the call to all creation to praise its Lord. Because of this, and the way that verses 3 and 4 speak of the incarnation in terms of sharing the death and sorrow common to humanity, by verse 6 I am ready to exalt our God and King, and even this is expressed in terms of praise and adoration coming from angels, humans and dominions rather than being imposed from above.

I realise that this is all very subjective, we can all find things to get annoyed about if we are in the mood. The final words of even this carol, for example, which talk about something we all want – the ultimate victory of goodness over the forces of evil – come loaded with associations that are difficult to set aside.

Honour, glory, and dominion,
And eternal victory—
Evermore and evermore.

Which carols do you love/hate, and why?

A review of the day

A beautiful helleborus I planted on the anniversary of my dad’s death.

In the evening, it can be good to take stock of the experiences of the day. One way to do this is through a form of prayer known as the ‘examen’, developed by Ignatius of Loyola. In the examen, we review our thoughts, feelings and experiences during the day, and notice where God has been at work. We ask God to shine his light upon our hearts and minds, so that we can see our day through God’s eyes. Then we give thanks for the gifts of the day. After that, we rummage through our feelings, looking for places where we have felt drawn to God and places where we have struggled. Then we dig a little deeper in an area that the Holy Spirit reveals to us. And finally, we ask God to give us whatever we need for the next day. So, let us pray.

Start by making sure that you are sitting comfortably, with your back supported in your chair and your feet on the ground. Remember that God is with you and is actively at work in your life as you start to look back at the events of the day. God has been with you in the encouraging moments and in the difficult ones. Even if the day has felt chaotic, trust that God has been present with you in it. Ask God for clarity and understanding, to shine his light on the experiences of the day. You might like to pray: Lord help me to see this day as you see it, let me recognise your presence, even in ways I might have missed.

Now we review the day with gratitude. Sift through the experiences to see what gifts you received. Perhaps a conversation, a moment of peace, a meal, a smile, the warmth of the sun. Who did you encounter? What did you receive from them? What did you give? God is in the details, even in the small joys we often overlook.

Now we pay attention to our feelings. God often speaks to us through the movements of our hearts – our joys, fears, hopes and struggles. A moment of frustration might be an invitation to seek patience or a new direction. A feeling of joy might be a sign of where God is calling you to grow. What emotions stood out today? Were you at peace, anxious? Grateful, irritated, hopeful, lonely?

Did you resist God’s presence in any way? Recognise your shortcomings, but do so with God’s mercy, not self-judgment.

Now ask the Holy Spirit to bring to mind one part of your day that was particularly important. This might be a conversation, a feeling, a struggle, or a moment of peace. It might have seemed insignificant at the time, but now stands out. Let this moment be a springboard into a conversation with God – whether it leads to praise, gratitude, repentance, or simply resting in God’s presence. Perhaps pray: Lord, I bring this moment before you. Help me to see its meaning. Speak to my heart.

And we end with a conversation with Jesus, as a friend who walks this journey with you. Ask for forgiveness where needed. Ask for strength where you feel weak. Offer your worries, hopes and desires to him. Look forward to tomorrow and ask for God’s light and for whatever you need for the challenges to come.

And we end with a prayer of commitment from Ignatius of Loyola:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.

RIP Nigel

This is Nigel sitting ‘like a human’ in his least flattering pose.

Nigel’s early life is shrouded in mystery, but his two spells at the pet rescue center and subsequent three months under the sofa suggest that it was troubled. But once finally settled in the bosom of the family during Covid, he relaxed had started to enjoy the good life. Nigel would sit on our laps when we rested and show us the importance of being still, taking one day at a time and not worrying and fretting over many things. He was the glue that held the family together and we will miss him dearly. Here follow some of the words we said at his graveside.

Nigel, you were the best cat. We will miss you for:

The way that you use to sit like a human,
clean between your toes,
and leave a dent in the sofa.

The way you would eat anything and everything,
howl for food an hour before dinner time,
and angrily turn around your bowl so we couldn’t reach to put the biscuits in.

The way you stole our sleep by kneading at our hair,
crying to be let out at 3am,
and then hiding under the table.

The way you dozed away the summer under the rosemary bush,
chirped at insects as you chased them,
and never posed a threat to bird or mouse.

The way you weed on the bathroom mat,
on piles of clothes,
and unguarded shoes.

The way you pooed next to your litter tray, so we stepped on it in the dark,
enjoyed the smells of smelly boots and dirty clothes,
and didn’t waste much time on grooming your coat.

The way you got the cat next-door to defend your territory for you,
snuggled deep into us,
and were a warm scarf around our necks.

The way you licked the cutlery in the dishwasher,
pretended you hadn’t been fed,
and helped mother with her yoga.

The way you drank water from pot plant drip-trays,
from the algae-choked pond,
and, if all you had was the water in your bowl, how you spilt it.

The way you came running at the sound of a scraped bowl,
the crack of an egg,
or the smell of tuna.

RIP Nigel, May 2011-November 2025