of angels, yearning and hope

I have been sitting with the theme of angels for our Advent and Christmas gatherings at Belair for some time. This week, I had to move from the vague images and feelings to something concrete to share in a reflection on the Sacred Story for the worship gathering tomorrow, Advent 1. We've got our angels made by the youth arriving in the church tomorrow, being hung to wait with us through this holy and sacred season. It is their drawing explorations that led us to invite angels to be the dominant image for our reflections through Advent in particular, and I am very grateful. I am tingling with anticipation at the possibilities for engaging with the stories from the Bible and our lives in coming weeks that this invitation is opening up.
This week I have heard some angel stories from people in my congregation, that have brought me to tears in their beauty, mystery and sacred wonder. And as these stories moved within my imagination, I began to find my way to the reflection I have to write for tomorrow.
Late yesterday afternoon, I could feel the ideas floating just out of reach of my consciousness - it usually takes a fair amount of distraction and procrastination before I can catch the thoughts for any piece of writing. But I have learnt to trust the process, and when I the words are eluding me, I go do something else. Yesterday afternoon, then, I came home and ate birthday cake with my sisters, then went to the chiropractor. I had been pondering the angel stories of others, and thinking, with some disappointment, that I didn't have an angel story. Then, as I was lying on the table at the chiropractor studio, I remembered.
And the opening to my reflection for tomorrow wrote itself on my way home. As it does.


A man has been doubting, questioning, the story of God. He encounters an image of an angel, and is drawn to it, inspired to reach out – God, if you are here, send me an angel.
The angel appears – tell the rest of that. And after he tells this story to a friend, four more angels are given to him, and he knows the presence of God with him still.


A 16 year old girl is travelling alone across Europe, a long way from her home Down Under. As she falls asleep one night, she senses the presence of two centurions, come to protect her. They accompany her all the way from Germany to England, where she meets her mother. Back home, as she tells of the experience, her dad says – oh, yes, those are my angels. He had sent them to take care of his daughter.


A 19 year old woman is sitting in the kitchen, desperate to end the pain of her depression. She is so desperate in her longing for an end, that she has begun to see only one way – to stop living. But as she runs through the options for this course of action in her mind – wrists, alcoholic stupor, driving her car into a tree – she finds she can not move from her seat, until eventually she decides to go to bed, and cries herself to sleep. Years later, looking back, she thinks she can see angels with her on that long dark night, holding her tight, holding her safe, God’s messengers of love and care an answer to her longing. 


I have always known God's presence with me - and tomorrow, we will consider what difference it makes to know God is present with us in our yearning for home, our longing for hope - what difference it makes to our responses to oppression, disempowerment, violence and despair. 

ponderings provoked by the psalms

Psalm 139:16 - 'Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.' 

As I read part of psalm 139 this morning, this verse arrested me, and provoked questions - 

how would a woman who had aborted a baby respond to these words? 

do the people strongly advocating for women not to abort really think God doesn't see the whole woman who has conceived? do they really think there is only one life - the unborn life - at stake in those situations? 

Then the Christmas story we're about to live and tell again came to mind - 

how do women who have aborted or lost a baby during pregnancy or childbirth respond to the story of Mary's conception & giving birth? 

And, inevitably, the broader questions of storytelling - 

how do we make room for the 'underside' of the stories we tell? 

do we make room in the cycle of our telling for the underside stories? the difficult stories? 

I am grateful to those who initiated services of solace, or blue Christmas services - for these do create space in which we can acknowledge and tell the stories of pain and hurt and grieving amongst a season of sometimes quite loud and overbearing calls to joy and singing. 

Following a wandering train of thought - I then reflect on how it is interesting to me that a partnership has emerged between Belair Uniting, Blackwood Uniting and Blackwood Church of Christ for the contemplative, difficult storytelling at Easter and Christmas. We come together for Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday and Blue Christmas, each congregation hosting one of the three each year. Sometimes it seems easier to gather together for the joyful celebrations. We come together to remember Christ's suffering, and our own, in the seasons of the telling of the central stories of our faith tradition - the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. 

If you are finding it difficult to celebrate joyfully this Christmas, or need space to acknowledge the underside stories of loss and grieving, I encourage you to find a service of solace in your area. 

Blue Christmas / Service of Solace - Belair Uniting Church (18 Sheoak Rd), Thursday 15 December, 8 pm