Ascentiontide...God's kingdom: Our character

I am known for my peculiar affection for seasons; the weather seasons in the UK (or at least the seasons we should have), but also the liturgical seasons. Some seasons are widely observed: Lent, Advent and Easter (in that order I should add). But there are other, less formal, seasons that excite me.

So...allow me to speak up for the 'season' of Ascensiontide.

Ascension Day baffles many, mostly because there is that tension of seeking to commemorate an actual event (Jesus going to heaven, quite whatever that means), while also celebrating the paradox of Jesus at the right hand of the Father, while also being present everywhere as King of the universe with his people in every place and every age. There's also the fact it's always on a Thursday and never quite gets the press it deserves.

So, naturally, Ascensiontide, the period between Ascension Day and Pentecost, might be expected to focus on these themes. Ascension Day is 40 days after Easter, and Pentecost (note the Pent- part of the word, as in five) is 50 days. There are, therefore, nine days between the two Holy Days.

However, I think the fact there are nine days is "almost too good to be true."

There are nine fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

How perfect is that?

As we consider Christ in glory, as King of the universe, we also look for signs of His kingdom here on earth. We pray (daily some of us) 'your kingdom come', which is as much about the present day, as that long awaited triumphant return. But as I look for signs of Christ's rule I am simultaneously looking for Christ's character, for he will rule as He is. And the Spirit comes in order to transform us more into Christ's likeness. Do you see the beauty?

As we meditate on His Ascension we are forced to petition the Spirit for a fresh anointing, a renewal, a transformation of our character to more accurately resemble our Risen Lord. Pentecost is a perfect conclusion to a micro-season of celebrating Christ's attributes as seen in the fruit, while reflecting on ways in which we need more of the fruit.

I accept that there is no way we can seriously reduce Jesus' character to nine attributes; it is admittedly artificial. Yet, the nine fruits of the spirit are an excellent framework, not only of Christ's character, nor only of a Christian's character, but in fact these values will be the foundational principles of God's kingdom when he comes. When we seek to be more loving, joyful, good, faithful...etc...we aren't seeking self-improvement, or more Christ-likeness (though these things occur) we are becoming the very answers to our prayer: 'May Your kingdom come...'

Ta da!!!!

Sounds cool, eh?

I invite you to spend a portion of each day leading up to Pentecost to reflect on each of the fruits, praying that you might better understand a) where the fruit speaks of Christ's life and passion, b) where in our own life we need more of that fruit, and c) how God's kingdom will be seen around us as we all seek more of these values.

Practically...and I hope this isn't too obvious here's the list (with the dates for 2014 in brackets):

Day 1 LOVE (Friday 30 May)
Day 2 JOY (Saturday 31 May)
Day 3 PEACE (Sunday 1 June)
Day 4 PATIENCE (Monday 2 June)
Day 5 KINDNESS (Tuesday 3 June)
Day 6 GOODNESS (Wednesday 4 June)
Day 7 FAITHFULNESS (Thursday 5 June)
Day 8 GENTLENESS (Friday 6 June)
Day 9 SELF-CONTROL (Saturday 7 June)

I hope you enjoy this if you do it. I'll be blogging each day. When I've written the blog I'll also create a hyperlink from this list too - so you need only come back here to find a link to every day's reflections.


Finally, I need to formally acknowledge John Methuen who wrote, in 2001, a paper for the Ripon Cathedral Liturgy and Music group from which I discovered this approach to Ascensiontide.

Moths and Ashes

So today is Ash Wednesday.

For the uninitiated this is the first day of Lent. It's an amusing scene in our house the few days before Lent starts. We often opt to give things up in Lent, which is an increasingly popular aspect of the season, even for non-Christians. As usual, we've decided to quit chocolate. To compensate we've not stopped eating it for the last week; Cadbury Creme Eggs mostly...but anything we can get our hands on. I've become especially partial to Malteser Bunnies. Not for another 40 days though...

Despite this, I have been growing increasingly worried that a chocolate fast rather misses the point. Why, after all, do we give anything up? And what good will it do?

One of the perks of my job is a degree of flexibility about working hours. As a result, I have visited Ilkley this morning, firstly for a coffee with a friend, but secondly to attend St Margaret's Communion Service with the imposition of ashes. This is a sombre service during which all present have a cross marked on their foreheads with ashes. The ashes are made by burning up the palm crosses from last year's Easter season.

The sermon was given by my friend, Chris Phillips. He too asked that we should all question our motives during Lent. And this was challenging, not least because his words uncovered some dangerous thinking I'd succumbed to about ashing.

You see, I'd always imagined that (a little like Good Friday walks of witness) by getting ash on my forehead it would be a natural conversation starter beyond the walls of the church. People might laugh or mistakenly advise me to wash better, but I would then be able to speak of my faith.

On the contrary, one Bible reading during the service stated clearly:

"Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them" (Matthew 6:1)

It was pointed out that wandering around with ashes on my head, might, in fact, be a sign of religious pride. I might genuinely end up speaking of God, but how might my ego, my pride me stroked and inflated.

Ashes serve two purposes: they are a sign of penance, and a symbol of our mortality. Talk of signs and symbols is, of course, to speak of sacraments. But imposition of ashes is not a sacrament, but it is (as Chris pointed out) 'sacramental'. I may be doing something with commonplace objects (ashes) but the act speaks of a deeper reality, and by taking part I am reminded. As the ashes were imposed on my forehead, these words were spoken to me:

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ"

By submitting to this rite, we are reminded that we have sinned, that we have not been faithful to Christ. Admittedly we do this every time we say the words of the confession, so why is this any different? It is because we simultaneously reminded that we will die.

It is incredibly unfashionable to speak of death.

But Lent is a season that is about death: the death of Jesus, but also our own death.

And this was made all the more poignant during the service when one of the congregation, a beautiful old lady called Joyce, who was too infirm to walk and kneel at the altar rail, was administered to where she sat. Seeing a (relatively) youthful priest gently, but firmly impose the ashes on this elderly lady, while saying those words, nearly brought me to tears. How must it have felt, for Joyce, who is plainly closer to death than most, be reminded of her mortality, but also her sinfulness?!

How does it make you feel to be reminded that you are sinful and you will die?

Meanwhile, during the sermon, I noticed a butterfly, or perhaps it was a moth, fluttering about, over the gathered assembly. Amusingly, the Matthew reading had just referred to moths:
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume...but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth nor rust consumes...For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Matt 6:19-21)

As I studied the delicate butterfly/moth I smiled.

They are so fragile, but beautiful. They are so transitory too - their lives are brief.

And how much like them am I?

Our morning prayers contained these words from 1 Timothy: "We brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it" (1 Tim 6:6)

Our lives are so brief, so transitory.

But they can be things of beauty. The prayer of confession has us repent for 'marring your image in us'. When we sin, we somehow damage the person God designed and longs for us to be. We do this in so many small ways, without noticing. We fail to love God as we should and so our very image is damaged. We are caught up in the business of storing up treasure that will be eaten by moths!

And so much of our straining, labouring, toiling is about a false image we want to maintain, to try and keep people in the dark about who we really are.

Which rather brings me back to ashes.

I wanted people to see me with my little mucky cross on my head, not in order to evangelise, but in order to persuade people that I am better than I really am. I want to give up chocolate so that people will think I'm a better person than I am. It's all about posturing and pretending.

The reality of ashes was lost to me: I am grateful to have been reminded of my true nature.

Preparing for Advent

Nine years ago, while worshipping at St Augustine's (Bradford) I led prayers immediately prior to Advent. I used an online article I'd found to frame my intercessions which included prayers for Iraq and Sudan. In preparing for Advent this year I've been prompted to seek the same article out, and I found it here.

I've decided to reproduce the piece in my blog as well, which I invite you to read in a spirit of prayerfulness. I've added some guides and prompts to help you take the theme on and into Advent.

I think the message of this piece is so important:

Do not get so sucked into Christmas preparations you lose yourself, that you become emotionally drained and emptied. Advent is a season where we reacquaint ourselves with HOPE, but all too frequently we're obsessed with guaranteeing the JOY of Christmas we fail to remember that when the great food, loving family and thoughtful presents are a memory, we're still in need of a Saviour. Hope speaks to our real, true, deep selves.

I pray you are blessed this Advent, and that you'll pause (however briefly) beforehand to prepare yourself.

Preparing for Advent

Getting in touch with myself

One of the best ways to prepare for the very special season of Advent is to 'get in touch with ourselves'. It may sound odd, but one symptom of our contemporary lives is that we can often be quite out of touch with what's going on in our very own hearts. We are about to begin Advent, right at the time our western culture begins Christmas preparations. It is a busy time, and our heads are filled with details to remember. And, it is a time of emotional complexity that is part of this holiday season - with all of the expectations and challenges of family and relationships: who we want to be with and who we struggle to be with. So, our hearts are a bit tender, if not completely defended from experiencing anything deeply.

[Take time to slow down, relax and think about the coming weeks. Imagine those scenarios with friends and family. Recall how previous Advents/Christmases have left you feeling]

We are about to hear some very powerful and stirring readings from Isaiah, the Prophet. We will re-enter the ancient tradition of a people longing for the coming of a Saviour. We may remember the days of our childhood when we longed for Christmas to come, because it was a magical time of receiving gifts. As adults, we have to ask ourselves: what is it I long for now? The answer won't come easily. The more we walk around with that question, and let it penetrate through the layers of distraction and self-protection, the more powerfully we will experience Advent.

[Set yourself the challenge of 'walking around with a question in your mind': what is it I long for now? Maybe you could keep a trinket or note in your pocket to remind you about the quesiton during the day. I've sometimes used a Duplo brick, or a small stone. Share any thoughts you might have with a loved one. Pray about answers that come to you]

Salvation from...

We are about to read and pray about the expectant hope of Israel, as expressed through Isaiah. The images we will be using are about darkness and gloom - about thick clouds covering the people - and about hunger and thirst. They are images that attempt to capture a sense of what we feel when we are distant from God. There are many images about war and conflict. They express the powerlessness and anxiety we experience when we feel vulnerable and defenseless. Most of all, there are images of a future day - a day that can only be called the Lord's - when all the tears will be wiped away, when there will be plenty to eat and drink, and when there will be no more conflict and no more war. God's salvation will be made known. God's victory will be complete.

[In what ways are you spiritually hungry and thirsty? Do you feel distant from God? Cut off? Alone? Do you feel like you've been in a battle spiritually? Tell God about these feelings. Bring them to mind during Advent as you hear of the promised Saviour]

These are very precious days for us to come into intimate contact with our own need for salvation. It is a time to make friends with our tears, our darkness, our hunger and thirst. What is missing? What eludes my grasp? What name can I give to the 'restlessness' in my heart? What is the emptiness I keep trying to 'feed' with food, with fantasy, with excitement, with busyness? What is the conflict that is 'eating at me'? What is the sinful, unloving, self-centred pattern for which I haven't asked for forgiveness and healing? Where do I need a peace that the world cannot give?

[Use these questions to examine your walk with God. What do you need, right now, from God? Ask]

Coming to know where I need a Saviour is how I can prepare for Advent. I am preparing to listen to the promises, listen to these rich texts announcing the liberation I can tuly long for. When my heart is open, when my hands are open, when my mouth is open and ready to ask for freedom, healing and peace, then I am ready to begin Advent.

The world's sap has sunk...

Tomorrow is the longest night of the year…correspondingly we have to endure its shortest day. And as if to rub our noses in it, the weather has turned decidedly grim. It’s one thing to be cold, but at least crispiness and sub-zero mornings make us dream of a white Christmas. Dark mornings, gloominess, wet and windy weather all induce a deep reluctance to get up: duvet weather.

Like the animals, it’s an attractive option to hibernate through the dark of winter.

And the darkness is spiritual.

 

 

The beginning of Advent is marked by the excitement and unquenchable optimism that Christ is coming to reign…we sing ‘Lo! He comes…’

However, this year I’ve found myself (not unlike the passage of Lent) becoming steadily more gloomy spiritually as the season has progressed. Instead of the dimmer effect – steady growth from dark to light – it’s been a gradual darkening: from dark to darker! And I think it’s John Donne’s fault:

Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,

Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;

The sun is spent, and now his flasks

Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;

The world’s whole sap is sunk

 

These are his opening words from ‘A nocturnal upon St Lucy’s Day’

Traditionally, St Lucy’s Day, 13 December, was regarded as the shortest day of the year – hence the idea of the “year’s midnight”…and the evocative assessment that “the world’s whole sap is sunk”.

St Lucy is a 4^th century martyr. Around Lucy certain legends have developed, not least the persistent idea that her eyes were removed before her death. However, this idea is unfounded, and absent in the many narratives and traditions, at least until the 15th century. But it’s rather poetic isn’t it. This beautiful young maiden, whose name, Lucy, is derived from the Latin for light (lux), has the one thing removed that casts light within – her eyes. She is, before death, consigned to darkness.

Liturgically, St Lucy’s day is followed by St John of the Cross Day who famously penned the poem, ‘The Dark Night of the Soul’. Happy.

Indeed, not only does St John’s poetry witness to the darkness that so often engulfs the human spirit, thrusting us into realms and periods of detachment and difficulty, seasons of isolation, even from God, when all is dark about us. But St John’s life itself witnesses to the darkness that accompanies walking with Christ. He was jailed in a monastery, where he was kept under a brutal regimen that included public lashing before the community at least weekly, and severe isolation in a tiny stifling cell measuring ten feet by six feet; not what you’d call palatial. Rarely, he was permitted an oil lamp, and he had to stand on a bench to read his prayer book by the light through a hole in the wall. He had no change of clothing and a meagre diet of water, bread and scraps of salt fish. A very real and no doubt soul-searchingly depressing period of darkness.

 

And then as if these two saints of the church were not enough, we were all confronted with the darkness of human nature in the massacre at Sandy Nook Elementary School. Sadly, the murder of 20 children only made me weep, and remember the Holy Innocents…Why, Lord? Why such darkness? How do we as Christians sing “my heart is full of admiration…” and so on, when we are confronted with evil?

On the same day I had a few hours to myself in the evening and possessed by a curious mood I decided to watch ‘Schindler’s List’ and so was plunged into more soul searching as I pondered afresh the torment and horror of the Final Solution and the death camps.

Whatever hopefulness that greets Advent, it has given way to a despair that accompanies the frank realisation of the state of the world. A spirit of evil and darkness seems to brood over the lives of man.

But in fact, maybe this is precisely the correct trajectory we take in Advent.

As I’ve remarked before, Advent is NOT about imagining we live in the Before Christ times; make-believing that we are shepherds and wise men waiting for the Messiah. No.

But something has to happen to our Advent cry. To sanctify and purify it. 

At the end of the liturgical year we reflect on the lives of the saints and the promise of eternal life in God’s presence in heaven: the last and eternal things. This naturally gives way to Advent where we begin the year eagerly expecting Christ’s coming. We are often expressly admonished to be joyful in this season. We are told – this is not a second Lent. We are reminded that the season is not penitential in nature.

Really?

I would contend that any serious engagement with the Advent readings, and much of this is in Isaiah, makes us reflect on the nature of our fallenness:

“The earth lies polluted under its inhabitants” (Isa. 24:5)

“He [man] cannot save himself” (Isa. 44:20)

The prophet points at the sins of indolence and laziness (47:8), of sorcery and astrology (47:12f.), of idolatry and pride (44:9-23; 47:7). The prophet says sin is rebelliousness “from birth” (48:8b).

In essence, we frequently and persistently turn away from God: we forget him (Isaiah 51:13).

Perhaps it is entirely fitting that this period from 13^th to 21^st December represents the dark heart of winter (and why the counterpoint of Gaudete Sunday is so refreshing. My friend Bryony preached on this on 16^th December). This week is the grim core of Advent, when we are finally worn down by the weather, the world, sin and our adversary, the Devil, who features in our readings from Thessalonians. We are afflicted on every side. Like the Psalmist, David, we might well say, “I am in the midst of lions; I am forced to dwell among ravenous beasts…”(Psa 57:4)

And then when I look inside…I realise I am one of those lions, I am one of the beasts. I am my own darkness.

 

So what do we do?

We cry that great Advent exclamation: WAKE UP, DO SOMETHING, LORD! SAVE US (Isa. 51:9)

And the beautiful truth of this season is this: the hope of a world redeemed can only be sustained when we have in our heart the truth of a promise fulfilled: a baby born. We can only trust God to be faithful, because he was faithful to his promises of old to come into the world to comfort and console us. And it gets better!

“We know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus” (2 Corinthians 4:14).

Advent is viewed through the lense of Christmas. Advent Hope is assured because of the Christmas Incarnation, and the Christmas Incarnation set into motion the life that leads to real life. Christmas is seen through the lens of Easter. Easter is the feast of feasts.

I am consoled and comforted this Advent because I am reminded once again that Jesus is coming back to judge and redeem the world. I can trust this will happen because God is faithful. His faithfulness is proven in the nativity – he fulfilled his promise – that God would come to save us. And this is THE great promise – that God would defeat the evil that came into the world – a defeat seen in the EASTER triumph.

 

So, John Donne, you may well be right. The world’s sap has sunk – and sadly we see signs of this decay day by day. But hope…hope is what drives us on. The hope of a Son: a son to save, to redeem, to judge, to comfort and console. A son who came, who died, who rose, who ascended, and who will come again.

A light. A light that has come into the darkness. And will never go out.

 

 

All Saints' Tide

Happy All Saints' Day!!

"The Lord takes delight in his people"

(Psalm 149:4)

It's yet another strange little season in the Anglican church. Indeed, it might be stretching it somewhat to describe it as a season...but you know me, I love a good season, so let's go with it.

All Saints' Tide (the period from All Saints' Day to the day before the first Sunday in Advent) is the last, the end of the Christian Liturgical year.

Now, I always bang on about the misuse of Advent. Advent is not simply about readying ourselves for Christmas...it is about preparing for Christ's return - his second coming. So in a sense you could say Advent starts the Christian year by focusing on the last things.

But in truth, the second coming of Christ is NOT the last thing...not even remotely. For after His return comes the glorious prospect of eternity in God's company.

All God's children will be gathered together and we will dwell, the bride and the bridegroom united. And we the church will be the bride!

So then...this season is the chance to be emboldened and encouraged to remember several things:

1. We are in this together.
We are all God's children. There is always a temptation to be independent, to try and do it ourselves. Our society values confident independence above all. Neediness is seen as weakness.

But Jesus himself say that we are but branches of his vine (John 15:5). We are inextricably linked to one another. We are one body (Ephesians 4:4). So let's have none of this lone ranger stuff.

This is so important when struggling in sin too. We stand in celebration that we are one church, but equally when I move away from church I quickly struggle in my temptations:
"See to it, brothers, that none of you has a sinful and unbelieving heart that turns away from the living God. But encourage one another daily so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness. Let us consider how we may spur one another on towards love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, but let us encourage one another" (Hebrews 3:12f.; 10:25f)

- Are you prone to skipping church? Ducking out of a midweek meeting? Why?

But on a deep theological level it's not just about going to church, but togetherness across the world and time. Through baptism we become members of one another in Christ, members of a company of saints whose mutual belonging transcends death. We have been knit into one communion, which the All Saints' Day Collect affirms. It's a mutual belonging where we are able to look to the great heroes of faith, and those local faithful witness...and know we stand with them.

2. Death comes to us all
The season does, however, confront us with the reality of death.

And All Saints Tide contains a strong emphasis on remembering those who've died. Whereas All Saints Day focuses on those of the faith, and especially the great ones, who have proceeded us into glory (although we believe they are 'asleep' still at present), All Souls Day - 2nd November - the commemoration of the faithful departed is a day about our own departed. This day acknowledges human grief and fragility "in a way that would hardly find a palce when we celebrate the triumphs of the great ones on All Saints' Day". This day offers an opportunity to meditate and reflect on our own personal bereavements. We can remember friends and family we've lost in prayer.

I know I need this day.

But then there's Remembrance Sunday - a more public, civil side to our remembering. We make particular effort each year to "never forget" the lives laid down for us. Whether or not you agree with the political or militaristic posturing that takes place, we all have a chance to pay tribute to the lives set aside - the death of thousands upon thousands. We are forced to confront issues of war and peace - a reminder of the wisdom of Ecclesiastes that life is full of both.

And through this all my own mortality looms large. Every year I am older, and as Pink Floyd sang, "one year closer to death".

3. We are to be inspired and encouraged by those who have gone before us.
But in the remembrance we are to be inspired. In our pilgrimage, "we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses" (Hebrews 12:1). We are to look to those who've gone before us and be thankful:

"It is a time to be encouraged by the example of the saints and to recall that sanctity may grow in the ordinary circumstances, as well as the extraordinary crises, of human living"

We remember the apostles, the prophets, the martyrs.

We remember the Sunday school teachers, the youth workers, the old batty Christian neighbour who unbeknownst to us prayed regularly for us.

We remember our parents, our grandparents, our ancestors who walked the path we now tread.

We may even remember our children and grandchildren taken before their time.

There is witness in every life.

 - During this season - who's example as a Christian inspires you?

4. There is life beyond the grave
From the pages of the Bible, in this season we also stop to remind ourselves of the promise of the resurrected life. Jesus said, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies" (John 11:25).
This promise, in a sense, is effected now; we're not waiting to be saved. We who are counted amongst the people of God - who believe in Jesus - who have called on the name of the Lord (Romans 10:13) - we are already saved. Redemption is a work of God's grace; it is God who redeems us in Christ. Although we shall die - we are already redeemed from its power!

- Are you joyful and thankful that you are saved - today?

5. The promise of life everlasting
But it's not enough to simply think of life somehow being resuscitated...no, the promise is much greater!
In this season, unlike the focus on judgment in Advent, we are mindful of the great, final consummation of God's new creation in Christ. We focus on our hope and longing for that fulness that will one day come. The day when we'll gaze on out beloved with our own eyes - not dimly in a mirror.

That's why we have readings from Isaiah 25 and 35 on All Saints' Day - we're reminded that Heaven is a place of abudance - abundant life, abundant wine, abundant food. It is a place of security, with a complete absence of pain and suffering. We are, in fact, looking to the promise of Revelation:

Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. ² I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. ³ And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ⁴ ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” ⁵ He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

⁶ He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. ⁷ Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. (Revelation 21:1-7)

Heaven is where our TRUE citizenship rests. The writer to the Hebrews reminds us that we are "looking for the city that is to come" (Hebrews 13:14)...but please note carefully...it is not Heaven above - NO!

The glorious city of God descends from above - God comes and dwells with us - a new heaven and a new earth!!!


So then.... we have five things to remember in All Saints' Tide:

1. We are in this together

2. Death comes to us all

3. We are to be inspired and encouraged by those who have gone before us.

4. There is life beyond the grave

5. The promise of everlasting life

...But finally, we find that this season does lead us naturally to Advent...does it not?

We also sense that it is a fearful thing to come before the unutterable goodness and holiness of God, even for those redeemed in Christ. When we come to his presence we shall be clothed in garments of righteousness. But this standing before God's throne reminds us that while called to be saints, we are often sinners...and so we come once more to the place where we permanently remember our need for Christ.

We conclude the season thinking of Christ as King, and then into Advent where we think of his first coming to save our sins, and his return to judge the world. Amen!

Corpus Christi - why do you take communion?

I grew up attending a fantastic Baptist church in Ashford, Kent. And I particularly remember the times I took communion in the evening services as a young teenager. In fact, it's likely that during one of those evening services as a 12/13 year old I really began to take seriously my faith and what I believed.

When I started studying Christian doctrine as a sixth-former (and having moved to another Baptist church) I studied Sacraments, which included communion. [In fact it's worth pointing out that there are multiple names for this particular element of church life. For some it is Communion, for others the Eucharist, for others Mass, and some simply call it the Lord's Supper. Whichever name you use says something about your particular tradition].

As I studied, I had a creeping realisation that my particular tradition had (whisper it) got it wrong. There was simply too much emphasis on the memorialism of the rite - too much remembrance and not enough active present faith.

And so, on this particular day, I want to ask...

What does Communion mean to you? Why do you take it? What does it do?

The reason for asking this on 7 June, 2012 is that today is a Day of Thanksgiving for the Institution of Holy Communion. It is called 'Corpus Christi' by some, and is a signifacnt festival for Roman Catholics.

As ever, the Anglican lectionary has this as an optional festival (or simply a commemoration), which means it has some significance.

I want to invite people to comment. Why do you take communion - why is it significant to you? What's your tradition? Does anything happen to you? Do you feel anything when you take it?

I will blog again later with some further reflections on the day...but let's get chatting.