We are still in advent – but Christmas approaches. One of the texts that has resonated with me has been Isaiah’s prophecy that the desert will come into blossom as God brings restoration to a people who have been occupied by foreign powers, and whose communities have been decimated. Isaiah’s words are quite literally birthed from the rubble and give comfort to those who survey the scene as the dust swirls at their feet; the desecration of holy spaces, the buildings once used for one purpose now occupied by another, the absence of loved ones who have died or who have deported, and longing that separated families might regather. The parallels between this scene, and for example the ongoing conflict in Ukraine are profound and poignant – but the war in Ukraine continues. My prayer continues to be that the war would cease, that both sides observe the Geneva Convention (since conflict can bring both the worst – and the best – out of us), and that negotiations would ensue.
It can be difficult to have hope that the blossom will come. And yet, despite this tragedy we have seen evidence of the best that humanity has to offer, as families from other countries have looked to house refugees. One important aspect of Isaiah’s prophecy is that we are not referring to how the seasons give rise to new growth, but how God can bring about the conditions by which that which is dormant within us can be brought to life. I note that whilst the spiritual dust swirls at the feet of those who have a direct connection to Ukraine, it also stirs at the feet of anyone here who experiences grief through the lost of loved ones, hardship as we struggle to pay the bills, and exhaustion as we battle the elements that can drain the life from us. But the blossom will indeed come, and there are times when you can see it blowing in the wind. These can sometimes be the briefest moments where we see God breaking through. In the simplest things.
I remember one moment this year when I prayed for someone who was homeless in Peterborough City centre. I had simply said ‘hello’, and a conversation ensued (as it often does). His story was difficult. When he said (almost in tears) that he would welcome a prayer I crouched down and asked, ‘What is your name?’ And that was the point where something changed because for him, to ask his name, was to give him dignity. For him it was, I hope like blossom in the wind. For me it was blossom because it demonstrated how people were open to prayer and the touch of God in their lives.
As I reflect on the Christmas story, I wonder how many places Mary and Joseph visited, only to receive the line, ‘Sorry we are full’, ‘Sorry we have no room’, ‘If only you had booked ahead earlier’. That must have been heartbreaking. However, I am more intrigued by the family who said, ‘There is no room’, and then stopped and looked at a heavily pregnant Mary and said, ‘But we can still find space for you.’ When it comes to loving our neighbour and showing it in action, we have more space than we think we do to make room for someone else. This can come, quite literally, as a revelation. Moreover, whilst some people have opened up their homes to support refugees, this openness can be shown in other ways. What does it mean for you to make room for someone in your daily living? Is it about us listening more and showing that we are willing to hear someone’s story when they share that they are in difficulty? Is it about us recognising that there is something we can do to support others that would have little impact on our routine; buying extra food and donating it to a food bank? Is it about giving just one hour of our time to volunteer in a warm bank? It it is about texting someone, to say, ‘Just checking you are ok.?’
Sometimes the smallest gestures have incredible consequences – let alone the feeling of fulfilment we get when we realise that we are making a difference to other people’s lives. One of the most moving things about our Livestream services has been the sense of community that arises as people from different places connect for a brief moment on the journey. The depth of sharing, caring, and praying is undeniable. However, whilst this depth of prayer and dedication to hearing the scrupture is wonderful, our desire is that those who are able become part of a local church – if they are not (almost all of them are). At the same time, we realise we are reaching those who are unwell, those who care for loved ones, or those who work shifts.
The Methodist Church focus for this Advent and Christmas has been the truth that ‘There is Room for You’. God has a place for you, a space for you, and a plan for your life. That is good news. The Church has showcased examples (of which there are countless others), where there is room for (among others), people of all ages, orientations, and genders, where this room for families under serious pressure, room for those who are experiencing poverty, where there is room for those who are homeless, where there is room for refugees, where there is room for difference (and especially those who are neurodiverse). This is good news. However, as we know from Jesus’ ministry, what is good news for some, is bad news for others. The priviso is that because there is room for you, you need to make room for others. I am minded that as we journey through winter, and as people struggle with the cost of living and staying warm, there is no room for our insularity. We are a Church. We are not a private members club. Whilst we may well focus on creating warm spaces, if we seek to honour God and be faithful to the Christmas message, whenever anyone new comes, it is incumbent on us to show them a warm welcome. Insularity is a significant word is that to be insular is to fail to let others in because we are content with our own comfort or isolation, and we are unwilling to be troubled by the difficult experiences of others.
Let me put it this way. We long to experience God’s blessing. We cherish our friends in the life of the church. Sometimes we even feel so cosy we are nervous about how new people might change things – the feeling of a group or even what we do. But to turn the ‘There is Room for You’ paradigm on its head, why should God offer room for you if you are not prepared to make room for someone else? That’s the deal. Ironically if we are unable to do this, all we will face is loneliness, isolation, and ruin.
Every blessing
You can view the There is Room main video at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-DxY1hSohE
There is Room monologue
You can view the playlist for other videos on https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLoWWaJT3-_P7oX7x8SmIdGQkANPBfzrc3
There is room. There is room, for you. There is a space in the world, for you. There’s a place in God’s story, for you. Love actually is all around, in the glistening lights, the warmth of the fire on winter nights. The ‘here-ness’ of you, and you, and you. Of course there is room. How could there not be when the music is playing, the people are praying and all of the universe is saying ‘you are loved’. This is where the story starts. The story that God is not apart. She’s here, right here. Whether you’re a wise man or a shepherd, feeling like an angel or holding a story that’s hopeful or shameful. This is the time when we welcome the stranger, like Mary welcoming men to the manger and discovering that these strangers, are angels. With messages of love for you and me, messages to hang on the Christmas trees of our hearts. This story is yours, because God is here, not there; near, not far, because Christmas is coming and of course, there is room.