Then were we like those who dream.

I said I had more to write. I wasn't joking.

I'm someone who likes to figure things out by talking them through, writing them down, thinking about them. Sometimes I don't even really know what I feel about a situation until I've put it into words.

Last Wednesday night/Thursday morning I had a pretty strong dream.

I'm used to weird and crazy dreams of one sort or another. I generally think of them as my brain's maintenance subroutines, and best not interfered with unless they are causing me undue distress. I am hesitant to give them significance. I want to be able to explain things, and dreams are all too often inexplicable.

This dream was different. In this dream, things I've been trying to understand became clear. The answers were there all along. In the dream I was asked to write them down, and I did. I almost never have words in dreams, let alone write them. Words are for the day, the light.

When I woke, I remembered what I'd written. So I wrote it down. It still makes sense.

I was asked to write down what the church is, what I'm supposed to do there. I wrote:

1) Togetherness/unity in Christ.
2) Unconditional service.

For 2) I meant unconditional service of all people, serving God through serving God's children.

For 1) I meant the Eucharist. And it's so obvious -- there is only one bread, I've said that how many times? -- but I think, on the whole, I get so caught up in 2), in service to others and the community, that I tend to push aside 1).

So much else was going on, Thursday and the days surrounding it -- tidying and cleaning in preparation for a house inspection was just one of the things on my plate -- but this, this came along anyway. And I can't ignore it, and I can't ignore little itches, insistent scratching about vocation, priesthood even, any longer. All the same, I felt less stressed about the whole thing than I have in a while. There's plenty of time, you see, and other things this week make it quite clear that the work I'm doing now is just as important, will not be rushed.

The problem with dreams is that if I tell someone "I had a dream about X and now I feel very strongly that I must pursue Y" they will think I have come rather unhinged. I have, of course. But who'd be sane by this world's rules?

That doesn't help in talking to Sweetie, talking to spiritual directors, talking to all the people I'll have to talk to if this leads where I think it will. Explaining myself. I like explanations because I can use them to explain myself to others. If this is what I think, there's going to be a lot of 'splaining to do.

Even typing that, a part of me thinks "If? What do you mean, if? Surely you mean when?", and I stop, and take another breath, and somehow, there are no words.

Sacrament and Inclusion and Eucharist, oh my!

I have been trying to think of a name for Nearest Church, now that I've decided they're as good a group of people as any with whom to throw in my lot.

I've been thinking a lot in recent months and weeks about the Eucharist.

My understanding of sacrament is that God's blessing is everywhere, and what humans call sacrament is just something that we do to become more aware of it. There isn't anything amazing about bread and wine...or rather, there is, but it isn't more amazing than a beetle or water or every single unthinking breath taken by every human on this planet. The entire world is sacramental.

But I recognise that though I believe God is in everything, I don't always manage to see God in all things. To this end, I practise. I pray because I want to praise God, thank God for the plenty of the world, and indeed to ask that God's blessing be upon those I care for. But I also pray because structured prayer makes my unstructured prayers come more easily. Regular engagement with God through, for example, sung psalmody makes my other work more prayerful. We get better at things if we repeat them. We get better at things if we practise.

And so it is with sacrament. Again, this is just my understanding, just my view through a scratched and cracked lens: the world is holy, but we don't see it as such. We are all entirely dependent on God, but we somehow forget that.

That's nothing new and people forgot it 2000 years ago, too. I struggle mightily with ideas around Incarnation, I am not always certain of Jesus' divinity. In fact, most of the time I'm not convinced.

Despite all my doubts, the message of the Last Supper seems pretty loud and clear to me. In context, bread and wine were the usual fare, but still of religious significance. Baruch atah HaShem, Elohenu Melech ha-Olam, b'rei p'ri hagafen: Blessed are You, O Lord, Master of the Universe, Creator of the fruit of the vine. Baruch atah HaShem, Elohenu Melech ha-olam, hamotzi lechem min ha'aretz: Blessed are You, O Lord, Master of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.

That's about God creating everything that is: ha-Olam is usually translated as the Universe, but it's more literally something like "the all" or "the whole" or "the everything". That's about manna from heaven even as we wander in the wilderness.

At the Last Supper, Christ said "do this in remembrance of me". If I suspend my disbelief and accept, for the sake of argument, that Christ really is God... then why would He say that? Maybe if people had forgotten, despite the words being right there in their mouths, that God made everything and provides all that we have.

That wasn't the really shocking part. The shocking part was the bit about the blood. Drinking blood is a Big Major No-No in Judaism... Leviticus is quite explicit. My understanding is that it was associated with idolatry, and idolatry is Right Out. Drinking and eating humans was perhaps the most shocking thing you could ask a group of faithful Jews to do. "Take, eat: this is my body, broken for you."... bread brought forth from the earth. "This is my blood, shed for you."... the fruit of the vine, created by God.

Can you see where I am going with this? That Last Supper was a very powerful way of saying, "Hey, listen up! God created and God provides!" And the surrounding events, the incarnation and crucifixion and resurrection, show that God loves so much that God provides Godself. If you're a semi-pantheist like me, you might see that already, in apples falling from a tree or in dazzling sunlight or in Bach. And you might cling to that in times of despair, you might try to cultivate that hope in yourself and use it to comfort others.

Far be it from me to second-guess what God is trying to do. I don't have that authority. But I also have to make decisions every moment about what to do next, and I do have to guess what is right, I do have to try to gather information and weigh up the options and then do the next thing in the hope that I either got it right or will be forgiven. And so do you. And in so doing, you interpret... but I digress, as usual.

So I see Communion as this sacrament, this thing people do, to remind themselves that God is God and God is With Us. And I'm not sure whether this is a sacrament ordained by God... but the part of me that sings thinks so. The part of me that reasons thinks that if it is, that doesn't exclude my views of the entire world as sacramental, because God doesn't exclude.

Therein lies one of my difficulties. For, you see, the official position of the Church of England seems to be that this sacrament is only open to those who make a commitment. I know some of you reading this go against that, and welcome everyone to the table, baptised or not, confirmed or not, and I applaud you. But in the large majority of churches and in what I can find of official documentation, the stance is this:

Baptized persons who are communicant members of other Churches which subscribe to the doctrine of the Holy Trinity and are in good standing in their own Church shall be admitted to Communion in accordance with Canon B 15A. (from General Notes on Communion, Common Worship)

I'm not going to go dig out Canon B 15A because the above is already legalistic enough. I've blogged about this before. The message sent is "You can have God's grace but only if you believe certain things." Technically by those rules I could go and receive Communion, as I did when I was a child. But the fact that I am included if I fudge things a bit does not make it a less exclusionary message.

I don't believe those things, or I don't think I believe them the way the larger church community would have me believe them, and so I go up for a blessing. I can appreciate that it is also important for people to have some way of identifying that they belong, some rite of passage, some way of making their commitment clear: but I don't think that should be a higher priority than hospitality, welcome, and the reflection in liturgical action of free access to grace! When did our identity as "believers" get more important than our mission to love the world on God's behalf? Lord, have mercy...

I go up for a blessing. I don't hold the belief that such a blessing is any less sacramental than taking Communion would be. There isn't some sort of hierarchy of sacrament here, not from God's point of view, and if the Church would like to imply otherwise I say the Church is wrong. I get... nervous, for lack of a better word. I don't feel dread, as such, but certainly an element of awe. My heart pounds. I often shake a little afterward. I don't identify that reaction as an indication of innate holiness or sacredness, but rather a result of my very human senses being susceptible to the focus on that part of the liturgy. The entire service is built around that moment, and that affects me even if I don't eat the bread and drink the wine. The ground is no more sacred than any other, but the fact that everyone is there to notice it makes all of us notice more easily.

I go up for a blessing. But I'd like to take Communion. I think that experience might, if nothing else, help me to understand Christian belief better than I currently do, on a level which no amount of rational thought will make clear.

I think I'd like to take Communion every week. When I was growing up, it wasn't part of our tradition to have it every week, and my experiences of church at that time were very much tangled together with experiences of upheaval. The treatment I had from my stepdad would be considered mild by many social workers but nonetheless, I was terrified of him. Because of that terror, that fear, I couldn't accept the messages of hope and forgiveness he preached on Sunday mornings. I certainly couldn't be anything other than numb to most of the liturgy. Only some of the music got through. I think if Communion is going to help me, if Communion is going to make me more able to proclaim the Gospel (summary: God Loves All) in deed and in word (more on that in another post!), it has a better chance of doing so if it's regular. I don't know -- for God, anything is possible -- but I suspect that I need the continuity, the consistency. There's a lot of damage to undo, still.

But I can't have that, locally and officially, unless I make a commitment.

I have no problem with making a commitment to love and serve God to the best of my ability. There doesn't seem to be any other sensible way to live! I was acting, at least in part, on that commitment when I left church, when I spent my years exploring Judaism, when I visited with the Unitarians, and indeed in my more recent involvement with Christianity.

I do have a problem with taking communion where it isn't offered freely to all who wish to receive. I recognise that the Church is doing what it thinks best, but I am deeply uneasy that if I were to partake, it would be seen as an endorsement of a policy which I find exclusive and misguided. I don't know if doing that is serving God, no matter how great my need might seem. I also don't know that my need is so very great, if I'm already capable of seeing sacrament elsewhere.

Gentle Vicar, the priest in charge at Nearest Church, is.... well, very kindly. We've spoken in passing a few times, and one of those conversations was indeed about welcome and generosity and grace, among other things. He'll be going on sabbatical in a few weeks and returning just before Lent. Today I made an appointment to go and talk to him before he goes away.

I hope I don't cry. I pray I don't chicken out and talk about something else instead.

I wish he weren't going, because I could really do with some guidance over the next few months, and as warm and welcoming as the community at Nearest Church is, I'm not sure any of them would read this and have any idea what I'm talking about. I'm sure they'd be supportive, but it's kindof vicar territory, really. But I hope he'll be able to tell me more about confirmation/reception/whatever in this diocese. I think that is eventually something I will want to explore further. Certainly some sort of prayerful study with other people is something I'd like to get involved in.

A long time ago, long before I started attending church or praying the Office or blogging here, Ambassador for Compassion suggested that perhaps spiritual direction might be appropriate for me. Advice from AfC is always something I take seriously, since so much of her previous advice for me has been so very, very good, even if I've been unable to recognise it at the time.

I've not mentioned it here previously, but I did get in touch with someone from my diocese about it; that wasn't the right route as most of the diocese is not really in London, so I got in touch with the good folks at SPIDIR who have recommended someone to me. I haven't met her yet. I have no idea what to expect. I have no idea what I want. But I have an appointment to meet her in the not-too-distant future... and I know that she sings. That gives me some hope.

In the meantime, I bought some strawberry plants at a table-top sale at Nearest Church today, and I'll be going along for the sacrament of the Fundraising Quiz Night this evening.

Too many words

For reasons too complicated to explain, I'm trying to write poetry again. It's been over fifteen years since I did this with any regularity or fluency, other than the odd haiku (which doesn't really count).

The purpose of this means the poetry needs to be good. Better than good, really. IO hadn't planned to write anything myself. I've just not been able to find a piece of poetry that says quite what I'm trying to say, so I'm trying to cobble something together.

This evening, this is what I ended up with. I don't think it will work. I don't think it's amazing, and it's more prose than poetry. But it hints at what I'm trying to say, so I'm posting it in the hope that someone else can do better, or tell me how to make it better, or point me in the direction of the poem that already says this.

----

All creation is joined, connected. Quiet raindrops fall into turbulent seas, rippled mud puddles are secretly thundering waterfalls. Hot salt tears and delicate snowflakes are formed of one substance.

All creation is joined, communicating. The frantic pulse of photons through fibre-optic cables, the steady signal flash of a distant lighthouse, the lowly candle on a rough windowsill and the ancient constellations strung through the sky all glow with one light.

All creation is joined, growing. Seeds fall to earth and send forth new grain. Tangled, knotted vines bear fruit each season, again.

Flood our hearts with water from Your springs, bathe our wounds, heal our hurts, that we may pour Your generosity on one another.

Turn Your face upon us, that we may shine as stars with the knowledge of your goodness, and illuminate with wisdom the paths of all we meet.

Sustain us with bread from the grain of the earth, wine from the climbing vines, transform us with Your body and blood. Mould our lives to your service and help us to convey to all creation--joined, connected, communicating, growing creation--your ultimate, contagious compassion.

----

(Be gentle please, but truthful.)