metatarsals and muambas

Picture from BBC News

God watches football and weeps. All that energy in the stands as men set an example to the church in the way they passionately lament and rage and love and endure and enjoy and get their feelings out there in words that might not perhaps make it in the Psalms… 

Football is generally determined by the direction the stands face. Inwards. The care and the passion and the prayers are all focused inwards. Except sometimes. Sometimes something happens that draws some of that passion and energy and turns it outwards. Suddenly the yelling and the rage and the lament is not directed at the sponsored pigs bladder or the teenage superhero who will always disappoint but at the nameless, faceless entity called… God.

Remember the metatarsals? I think it was the 2006 World Cup when The Sun urged us to pray for Beckham’s foot. A frivolous prayer. And now we are urged to pray for Fabrice Muamba. Suddenly people who never give a thought to praying anything beyond wining the FA Cup are not frightened to pray. Out loud. To wear t-shirts and leave flowers.

What does God do with these prayers?  I think he welcomes them. He’s not like some tardy old wealthy uncle who gets upset when people only talk to him because they want to borrow money. Or a miracle. He welcomes them. 

Does that mean he answers them? Erm… if you mean does he say Yes and make Fabrice Muamba better? Erm… if only prayer was like a magical incantation, a formula. Maybe God asks a question back. That’s the thing with prayer, it’s a conversation not a monologue. It’s Facebook Chat not a status update. Maybe God says, thank you for your prayer; now tell me about yourself and how you are going respond whether or not your prayer is ‘answered’. If you want me to intervene in his life, can I intervene in yours?  

Image from BBC Sport

Maybe God hears these prayers and weeps. Not because he doesn’t want to hear them – he does – but because he wishes he heard more. And maybe because he wishes the energy that is devoted to praying for single, well-known individuals could be devoted to praying for communities or even countries. Like the Democratic Republic of Congo, for example, from where Fabrice Muamba fled as a refugee aged 11. Or maybe these prayers acted as a catalyst for action against heart disease and the millions of football fans with terrible diets saw a glimpse of what can happen to even healthy people and changed their ways. 

Prayer has strings attached. Prayer comes with our own responsibilities. May we be people who begin to help the football stands face outwards, to be people who pray and act for individuals and communities and countries. And may we be people who welcome the fact that our God is suddenly hearing a whole load more prayers than he used and that he does not turn them away.

As we pray that, we also pray for Fabrice Muamba, his family, friends and colleagues. And for the victims of the shootings in France… the bus crash in Belgium… the street homeless in London…  the lonely old lady next door…

May our actions be prayers that rise like incense. 

olympic baptism bingo

There’s a new Olympic sport. Not as much of a guilty pleasure as beach volleyball, but good nonetheless. It’s called Olympic News Bingo, and involves watching BBC London (my local news) and seeing how many tenuous links to the Olympics they can make with an ordinary news story.

A bus has crashed – OLYMPIC TRAVEL CHAOS.
Famous person visits London – OLYMPIC HOTEL CHAOS.
Boris Johnson – OLYMPIC BORIS JOHNSON CHAOS.

Wenlock

You get the picture. 

Without wishing to cash in on such cheap journalistic techniques, I was thinking about how much the Olympic ticket lottery was a bit like many people’s attitudes to child baptism.

To get an Olympic ticket, you don’t have to be into sport, you just need to want to be there; you don’t have to know what it will be there – you may end up watching cycling or wrestling or hammer-throwing – but at least you will be there; you don’t have to make any long-term commitment, just give your credit card details, sit back and wait. It may work out, it may not. At least you’ve done your bit to try. 

Many people approach having their children baptised in a similar way. You don’t have to be into Jesus (or even religion), you just need to want them want them to get into heaven, though you don’t really know what that means and actually aren’t very interested in finding out. Like handing over your credit card details to Olympic organisers, you make the “renouncing evil” promises through gritted teeth. You don’t really know what you are promising, or where you will end up, but at least you are in shout for a ticket.

manderville

And the best thing? No long-term commitment.  Ok, the vicar goes on about the ‘baptism legacy’ being you and your child involved in your local church developing healthy spiritual lives… but you know as well as he does that you have no interest in a long-term legacy, just like getting an Olympic ticket isn’t going to make you join a gym. You just want a ticket and then to go home.

I know not everyone thinks like this. We are about to do our first baptisms at our church for years and our prayer is that in the same way buying an Olympic ticket might get more people involved in the wonderfully life-giving life-changing thing that is participation in sport, so our baptisms might get more people involved in the wonderfully life-giving life-changing thing that it participation in Jesus’ kingdom, in bringing heaven to earth now, not just for the future.

Only time will tell. I know I am convinced that no ticket will give me a better view of the Olympics then from my armchair. So there I will stay.

unnecessary beach volleyball picture

   

waking up koscielny

Koscielny Calamity

So here’s the thing. You have worked all your life towards this point. You have trained hard, you have made great personal sacrifices – a travelling life, far from friends and family, an uncertain future in which things could go wrong at any point. You have your critics, but those around you support you. In fact, only a couple of weeks ago thousands were shouting your name and waving flags for you.

And this was your moment. This was your time. Your time to win, your time to gain the prize. Your moment.

Yet it went wrong. Very wrong. No-one can understand why you did what you did. Your decision surely unfathomably wrong. The Palm Sunday moment of being a hero against Barcelona turned into the Good Friday moment of causing the bungled Birmingham City goal with 2 minutes to go ensuring Carling Cup Final defeat.

Imagine what it was like to wake up on Sunday as Laurent Koscielny. Sunday was very much his Easter Saturday. Rejected by those he would count as supporters, those who questioned  all he had lived for, ruing decisions made under pressure.  Was there not a different way? Why did you not play it differently? We thought we were going to light up the world together. And now, nothing.

I’m not saying Koscielny is Jesus. I don’t even support Arsenal. I just thought it was an interesting parallel.

The question is, will there be a Resurrection Sunday?

better the (red) devils you know

on the ball

When I was an apprentice vicar in Crawley, Crawley Town’s Broadfield Stadium was in our parish. Going there every week as a committed supporter was a great way to embed myself in the local community, to participate in the life of a well-supported (and struggling) non-league club, to find out what local people are thinking and doing and what they care about.

Except I didn’t.

It was always there on my mind. I always meant to go. I just never quite got around to it. I was, you know, busy.  Now they are playing Man U (both teams nicknamed the Red Devils) in the FA Cup of course I wish I had, I wish I could claim to be a true fan. Apparently season ticket sales have gone through the roof, as that is a way to get an Old Trafford ticket. Fair-weather fans crawling on the bandwagon?

A few years ago I realised that I felt about the Crawley Town red devils the way lots of people feel about church. The club went into administration and there was a serious possibility it would cease to exist. And this made me sad. Because I thought it was great that a town like Crawley had a football team. It was wrong it was going to close. I liked driving past the stadium and feeling part of them. I mean, I even used to park for free in their car park.

a great carpark

But I had no intention of going along, of parting with my hard-earned money to keep them afloat, of screaming from the touchlines in all weathers. I wanted them to exist, but it was up to others to ensure they did. I wasn’t going to put my presence – or my money – where my mouth was.

Isn’t this how lots of people feel about the church? It is good it exists, and people often make a fuss when churches close. But they have no intention of joining in. When there is celebration to be had, like a baptism or a wedding, or a community funeral, or a summer fair or Christmas carol service the church’s long-running presence is gratefully accepted, maybe even taken for granted. A bit like a decent cup-run, people are suddenly interested, involved. Then they go.

To draw people into our churches maybe we need to tell a better story, give a warmer welcome, and – more importantly – be supporters of Jesus outside the building (stadium) as well as in it. Wear the kit, talk about what Jesus has done, invite people to be a part of it. That’s how football clubs grow. Word of mouth.

Success helps, of course; Man U didn’t get their home counties (and global) following by being a bit rubbish. When good things happen, people talk. Jesus does good things. We the church do good things. So let’s talk about them! How many of us talk about everything BUT the service we have just been at after church?! And how many football fans talk about NOTHING but the match they’ve just been in!?

I wish Crawley all the best today, they hold an affection in my heart because despite never going to a match, I loved living in Crawley, I am glad the club still exists – and I love the success of the underdog. As for my friends who did actually go and still go and did invite me and I never went with you, some of whom are lucky enough to have made the trip to the North-east – I won’t pretend to be a proper fan, I but I will crawl on the bandwagon with you, and I’ll be shouting with you!

If only I’d joined in earlier.

suffering fouls gladly

When the most interesting statistic in a football match  is “fouls suffered” you know things are bad. That was my experience watching Valencia vs Man U on Wednesday. And Utrecht vs Liverpool on Thursday come to think of it. A waste of 90 minutes? Arguable! Intending to switch my brain off, I was bored so I began to think. Isn’t that an interesting thing to count. And interesting language. Are fouls suffered? Or received, experienced, taken?

there he goes again

Players have different attitudes to suffering fouls. For some, the slightest touch is enough to bring them diving majestically to the floor sporting toddler-style tantrums. Think Drogba. Or it brings an angry retaliation. Think Rooney.  Other players are built of stronger stuff and suffer fouls more gladly. You get knocked down, and you get up again. You are, after all, playing a contact sport. Think John Terry (on a good day!). How they respond to those fouls will often define them as players.

Following Jesus brings up some similar issues, for leaders yes, but for everyone else too. We know we will be fouled, sometimes badly, sometimes innocuously. It is how we respond to those fouls that define us as followers of Jesus.

There’s much biblical precedent for expecting to be fouled, on purpose or not. Prophets, preachers and ordinary people are repeatedly ignored, mocked, confused, disheartened; and more seriously beaten, imprisoned, executed. So the odd (or frequent) argument, hurtful comment, draining conversation, thoughtless remark, conflicting vision, broken window, verbal abuse or black dog of lingering depression are to be expected. Anticipated. But, I hasten to add, not yearned for to earn “bruise badges” to show how tough or effective we are, nor milked to gain attention or sympathy we feel we deserve.

Sometimes we will need to take time out and rest. Sometimes get straight back up and run it off. Sometimes we will have the wind knocked out of us. Sometimes we will be tempted to make more of it than we need to – for a rest, for some attention, because we’re irritable, or because there’s been so many small fouls we’ve ignored that we’re darn well gonna milk this one.

Maybe we could follow the lead of the Psalmists, whose God led them through the valley of the shadow of death towards green pastures. Fouls come, knocks come, bruises come. But by the grace of God we can carry on, learning, parrying, sometimes weeping and sometimes not seeing a way through but always hoping there is one. Because how we suffer the fouls will define us.

And if we really need to be things put in perspective, watch this:

crouching tiger, hidden passion

passion

The Wor ld Cup is passion. Passion drives teams, passion drives fans. We must win, we must get through. From New Zealand to Brazil, Switzerland to Spain, what we are looking for is passion. Passion! We can forgive teams if they lose, but show passion. We forgive teams for a lack of skill, if they show passion. Passion shows us that our faith is justified; passion shows us it was worth the money for the travel or the TV package or the one warm beer you’ve made last the whole game at your local. Passion generates energy that generates more passion that makes the little teams know that in a knock-out it is maybe, just maybe. Passion makes us love you, little 3-inch footballer on my screen who I will never meet and who earns more in a week than I ever will.

passion?

Show a lack of passion, and everything changes. Show a lack of passion and we will show you a lack of compassion. Show no passion and we will not forgive your lack of skill, the money we’ve paid, the flags we’ve been made to put up, the money you earn. Little 3-inch footballer if you show no passion I will not trust you that you believe, and if you do not believe, why should any of us believe?

Passion comes from the Greek verb ‘pascho’, meaning ‘to suffer’. Passion is more than enthusiasm and wild celebrations and a bit of naughty loving… passion, real passion, involves sacrifice and pain and suffering as well. Showing me passion shows me that you care enough to put yourself out, to run harder, faster, longer; to chase and press and push for the ball; to take a risk, to change formation, to try something new. It might not work but you will have shown me passion and I will love you for that.

England showed a distinct lack of passion. The drone of the vuvuzela was more interesting than their passion, their creativity, their skill. So we pillory them and show them no compassion, the over-paid illiterate superstars.

passion

Speck. Plank.

Uh oh. Who said that?

Imagine the TV cameras being trained on our church, our faith, our life… will they see passion? Or will they see going through the motions, rigid formations, creativity shelved for the old ideas and something that looks as interesting as England vs Algeria?  Would they see us masking our failures by celebrating hollow victories like England vs Slovenia? Would they see us ripped apart by the realities of real life outside the holy huddle of our training ground like England vs Germany?

Would they see us as we show the passion to suffer and struggle for our faith, for our God, to walk the extra mile carrying the soldiers tunic? Or would they see something that looks simply pedestrian, dull, lifeless, tired and about to be knocked out? As we (rightly) criticise our team for a lack of passion, it might just be worth remembering that we are out there on the pitch every minute of every day and we (surely) want to be known as passionate, not pedestrian.

And by the way, you take Crouch, use Crouch! He scores goals. Apparently, they help. I mean that, passionately.

un-used passion

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personality and premiership

The final week. Whoever you chose at the beginning of the race, soon you will know if you were right. The nation waits, with baited breath.

The 4-horse race that became a 3-horse that became a 2-horse race. Liverpool’s campaign disastrous; Arsenal’s another ‘almost’; United and Chelsea another display of the power of the substitutes bench. The question is, was it a battle between Ancelotti, Ferguson, Wenger and Benitez, or was it something bigger than that?

The 2-horse race that became a 3-horse race. Labour’s campaign disastrous, Conservatives’ another ‘almost’, Lib Dem’s a display of the power of disenfranchised voters..? The question is, is it a battle between Brown, Cameron and Clegg, or is it something bigger than that?

The power of personality can sometimes dominate. The football season is often characterised as individual battles between the managers competing for the Premier League, rather than whole teams. These personalities can have huge influence, but if they are not backed up by results, the personalities must be irrelevant. Flamboyant managers are interesting, but not popular with everyone. Just ask Mourinho. At the end of the day, good results under an unpopular manager are better than bad results under a popular one. Rafa is a case in point (I speak as a Liverpool fan…).

The power of personality can sometimes dominate. The General Election is often characterised as individual battles between the party leaders campaigning for the Premiership. These personalities can have huge influence, but if they are not backed up by policies, the personalities must be irrelevant. Flamboyant politicians are interesting, but not popular with everyone. Just ask Blair. At the end of the day, good policies under an unpopular Prime Minister are better than bad policies under a popular one. Which of them is a case in point I am not at liberty to say…

Jesus chose an unexceptional group of personalities to be the leaders of his movement. They were not all eloquent or intelligent; some had dodgy skeletons in their closet. How they would get on in a leaders debate or a post-match interview who can say. What they did have was genuine passion and commitment to their cause; they were prepared to be mocked and beaten for Jesus’ message of revolution and resurrection, liberation and redemption, of good news for the poor and freedom for the oppressed. They were not out to win votes, a popularity contest or an annual competition. And they were in for the long haul.

The Premier League will not be won on the personality of the manager, but the quality of the squad over the 38 games. The Premiership should not be won on the personality of the party leaders, but the quality of the policies over the parliamentary term. As we prepare to vote, we would do well to bear that in mind.

And may next year be Liverpool’s year. Maybe with the flamboyant Mourinho at the helm…?

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a kiss from judas on the terry-go-round

There’s a bandwagon of faux-outrage, moral superiority and media hypocrisy about John Terry. The same papers that delight in telling sordid tales of bedtime shenanigans with some pretend to be outraged when it is others. What is it that makes John Terry different from Rebecca Loos? What is it that means the captain of the England football team should have higher moral standards than, say, previous manager Sven Goran Eriksonn (who had affairs with Ulrika Johnson and his secretary at the FA, Fariah Alam, who herself also had an affair with FA chief executive Mark Palios… just imagine the office party).

betrayed by a kiss...

In some senses, it really doesn’t matter. It is just football. It is just a horny overpaid sports star having an affair with a French underwear model (for rude picture see here). Another day in the life of the rich, privileged, and slightly bored. On another level, it does matter. It matters because all the characters are human (even the ones that play for Chelsea); because the lady in question is the mother of his friend’s child; because so many people will be hurt and upset at the various betrayals; oh yes, and because Bridge and Terry were friends, and may end up as team mates in South Africa.

And it matters because people like John Terry are role models. Not just for the men who wear the no.26 shirt as a tribal statement because they crave a sense of belonging in a world devoid of heterosexual male community (ok, and they support Chelsea…), but to all the young footie fans who look up to these players as role models. Anyone who has played football with teenagers sees how they copy their idols – from attempting the Ronaldo step-over to the Beckham free-kick, the Gerrard 30-yarder to the Scholes ‘remonstrating-with-the-ref’ special. I was particularly good at the Crouch tumble (it would have been the robot except I never scored).

So, when a player plays fast and loose with their marriage, what message does that send? Does that cross the players mind? Does it make infidelity ok? Exploring the complexity of this is important for our kids, as they grow up with the temptation to idolise or demonise, depending on the colour of their shirt. Here are some thoughts of things to explore, though I am sure you have many to add…

1. We are all human; that is, we are all flawed – from the good guys (Giggs, Gerrard, Beckham…?) to the bad guys (Terry, Bellamy, Bowyer…?), no-one is either all good or all bad. Ferdinand is a mixture. Terry is a mixture. I am a mixture. John Terry has a reputation as a bad boy – tough on the pitch, parking his Bentley in a disabled bay off it. Rio Ferdinand has had his fair share of indiscretions and is currently serving a 4 match ban; but spends a lot of time and effort on his charitable foundation Live the Dream, based in his native Peckham. Why? Because he knows that as a working-class black man from Peckham, who has officially ‘made it’ by breaking the transfer record for a defender twice, playing for Man U and now captain of England, he is a role model. His actions are influential. He can make a difference.

Discussion point: Can flawed people be leaders? Why? Who did Jesus choose to be his apprentices? And then his leaders? Did they all turn out  to be ok? Were they always friends? Which ones wanted to be Captain (can we sit at your right hand…)? What would he have done if Peter had had a bounce with the ex of one of the sons of Zebedee…?

2. The second key point is that betrayal hurts, who ever you are. Why do people betray others?  Why do they betray their friends? And why does it matter? (I explored some of these theme in a previous post).

Discussion point: How was Jesus betrayed, and how did Jesus respond to that  betrayal – by his family, by his home-town, his fellow Rabbis, by his disciples, by a kiss in the park, by Pilate…? How do adults respond to betrayal? How do young people respond to betrayal? How many families have been split apart by betrayal? How have we responded to betrayal, major or minor?

choice?

3. The third key point is the reality (and unpopularity) of consequences and punishments. For certain people personal indiscretions mean a job loss, or job change. Church leaders rarely survive an exposed affair with their job intact; neither do politicians. Footballers do, after some press attention and some terrace chanting (Ashley Cole springs to mind….). Do you mind if your delivery driver is having an affair? So does it matter if your football captain is? It does – because consciously or not, public figures are role models. Capello had to show that his regime is one of integrity and strength of character, and not just on the pitch. Didn’t he?

Discussion point: For us that can be translated as whole-life discipleship. We cannot separate what we do at school or work from what we do at home; what we do in public from what goes on in private. God sees it all. Everything. What difference would it make for all of us if our private indiscretions meant a demotion at work? Or if cheating on our girlfriend got us taken out of the school football team?

We cannot breach trust in one part of our life, and be considered trustworthy in another. Can we?

We want our football players to be perfect – scoring for the team and only playing at home, if you see what I mean. They will not be. What we should expect is honesty – not telling-tales-to-the-tabloids kind of honesty, but holding your hands up and saying sorry, admitting mistakes, on and off the pitch. Showing a bit of humanity never hurt anyone.

Showing a bit of grace gives them a chance to.

a speck in the eye of the tiger

eye of the Tiger?

There’s nothing the tabloids love more than a squeaky-clean celebrity beginning his fall from grace. And Tiger is beginning to fall. The pedastal is rocking, the ex-girlfriends and (alleged) mistresses are finding their way to a pay-check on US TV, TAG Heur have already removed his image from their website. Apparently a naughty golfer is bad for business in the world of expensive watches. Maybe Gillette will even shave him off the worst razor adverts ever.

Of course there’s an argument for saying he put himself up there, he chooses to market himself on his image, so when it turns out to be a bit of a sham, or at least a little exaggerated, we have a right to point and laugh. Is there? Should we rather laugh at ourselves for (yet again) being taken in by an image, a brand – especially if any of us thought we’d buy a TAG Heur “because Tiger Woods advertises them, and he seems like a nice guy”.  He’s just a guy, a guy thrown into the world of the super-rich, where money and girls (and drugs…) are thrown at you, where your every move is watched for signs of cracks (or crack?). The pressure is unimaginable. Though of course, he can expect little sympathy from us, mere mortals, because he is very rich. And presumably, a bit dull, because he plays golf all day.

It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the cream of the fight
Risin’ up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he’s watchin’ us all in the eye of the tiger

eye of the tiger

In a strange kind of lyrical reversal, this classic 1980′s song by Survivor sort of sums it up, except the tabloids are the stalkers, the tigers seeking their prey to devour, watching Tiger with the eye of the tiger.

We don’t need to get involved. We don’t need to feed the tiger that hunts the Tiger. Every time we buy the magazine, join in the conversation, jump on the pedastal-tipping bandwagon, we reinforce the values that say that it is ok. It’s dog-eat-dog, he’s had it good, let’s bash ‘em whilst we can. No. There is another way. And it involves more puns.

Jesus said something like “before you point out the speck of dust in your brother’s eye, take out the plank of wood from your own”. I have no particular affection for Tiger Woods. I cannot stand golf. Golf courses take up valuable land that could be run on. But I do believe that Jesus was onto something radical here. He was obviously part of a judgemental culture too.  A culture that liked to judge and point and make themselves feel better by pointing out the shortcoming of others. And in our culture, it is not just the religious who are the Pharisees. Everyone is at it. If we join in, we become them. If we ignore it, we allow it to grow. Do we want to be the Pharisee loudly praying on the street corner, mocking others who are ‘worse’? I would hope not. But so easily we are.

May we, when living our ordinary everyday lives and looking at those living extraordinary everyday lives, may we be the ones who remove the plank of wood from our own eye first, before pointing out the speck in the eye of the Tiger.

(This does not apply to cheesy 1980′s rock songs from Rocky films. There is no plank here.  Sit back and enjoy!)

a greater violence to remember

he won a fight

Life sometimes throws up some unexpected ironies. On the eve of Remembrance Sunday, a Briton beat a Russian in a fight in Germany. David Haye became the WBA heavyweight champion. People cheered. Hooray for violence! But this is not the time to reflect on boxing; there is greater violence to remember.

Last week in Sutton (near where I live) a man was violently killed as a group of angry people stamped on his head. A fight that began over a stolen Halloween hat. There is great violence to remember in this world, and it is not just in faraway lands.

Such violence, and the violence of the wars we remember today, reveals the nastiest, most undignified side of humanity. We keep it under wraps, peeping at it from the safety of our newspapers or TV screen. But our capacity for greed, for murder, our lust for power and wealth is all too real. The great Christian writer CS Lewis wrote this: ‘I looked inside myself, and found that I am a zoo of lusts, a bedlam of ambitions, a nursery of fears, a harem of fondled hatreds.’

Jesus recognised the capacity within his disciples for violence. He recognised the capacity of his disciples to struggle, to fall out with each other. Love each other as I have loved you, he said. Love each other even when you disagree. Love each other even though you are so different. Love each other because being humans you will discover the urge for power, for status, the need to be right, to be better than others…

In recognising that part of ourselves, and giving over that part of our characters to God, that its power is taken away. The power of Jesus’ love, the love he commands us to remain in, is stronger than the power of evil that wants to drag us down. And we are forgiven; our zoo of lusts, bedlam of ambitions, nursery of fears, harem of fondled hatreds will not be held against us.

It doesn’t stop there though. The Christian life is not passive. It is a verb not a noun. We have a responsibility, a new responsibility as followers of Jesus. The responsibility is not this: to characterise or dismiss people of a particular race or ethnic background as terrorists or war-mongers as many of us have done in the past and the present to the Irish, Germans, Russians, Bosnians, Arabs…; our responsibility is not to join in or encourage conversations that do those things. Our responsibility is not to glorify war, or to force war on others. Our responsibility is not to judge other people as inhuman and therefore beyond the power of Jesus Christ to transform them, the same Christ who by his grace transforms us.

Our responsibility is to remain in Jesus’ love; a responsibility to love each other as Jesus loved his disciples; a responsibility be prepared to lay down our lives for our friends; a responsibility to be like shining stars as we work out together what it means for us to be followers of Jesus in this messed up world. A responsibility to show the same self-sacrifice as Jesus did. To put you before me; them before us.

violence and remembrance

We remember that suffering and violence do not have the last word, but that Jesus resurrection has the last word, his resurrection that breaks the power of sin and death, that redeems and transforms all who come to know him. So we remember those who have died, and we commend them to God; but also and maybe moreso, we pray for those in places where war is all too real, death all too near, and we pray for transformation of hearts, for transformation of communities – not just them and their communities, them over their far away; but as much us and our communities, for Jesus loving and saving power to do what the gun and bullet will never do. From St Helier to Sutton and the ends of the earth.

We pray that  the hope we have and glimpse will be reality; that there will be no more death and tears and mourning; that anger will not turn to violence; but through grace, to peace.

We will remember them.

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. Let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.