A challenge to the church to change – ‘When the church, afraid of changing’
Hymn writers sometimes ask questions of the church and then flesh out the consequences of the actions they have described. Fred Pratt Green’s - ‘When the Church of Jesus shuts its outer door’ is one such hymn (perhaps too challenging, or near to the bone, to be in Hymns & Psalms or Singing the Faith?) As we live out the time through lectionary readings from resurrection to Pentecost we have a chance to reflect on what the church is, and what it might be expected to be. Remember that Jesus death was partly a consequence of his challenging people to change their perspectives of faith.
When the church, afraid of changing, clings to glories of the past, holding fast to long lost memories, sure that it will always last, lost in time, devoid of spirit, know this truth, its fate is cast.
When the church no longer welcomes people other than it's own, when it thinks its understanding stands complete, is fully grown, love is rarely seen in action, grace is only, thinly, sown.
Jesus challenged expectation, turning tables upside down, those who once were thought as holy he confronted with a frown. When, then, will we learn the lesson, own that cross, that thorny crown?
A little memento can move us to tears – the saints we remember
A little memento can move us to tears, a memory can surface along with its fears, the past is still with us, and scars are so raw, while hope can seem absent on life's barren shore.
The life that has ebbed has left marks on our lives, while love is still present some hope still survives. The treasure of saints in each era and age, is loving, while living upon the earth's stage.
And these we remember, each person, each life, the good they engendered, their solace in strife; the warmth of a hand, or the smile of a face, their presence a channel of God given grace.
When words are spent and grief destroys compassion, or fear of war throws shadows like a cross, God melt our hearts and fire imagination, that we might sense the pain within each loss.
This loss can blind our eyes and freeze our feeling, can numb for us the pain of holocaust, for memory fades, to leave just words revealing a horror far beyond all human cost.
God open in our present generation, a depth of human empathy to feel humanity that bridges every nation, that only love and hope and grace can seal.
Once crimson poppies bloomed out in a foreign field, each memory reminds where brutal death was sealed. The crimson petals flutter down, still hatred forms a thorny crown.
For in this present time we wait in vain for peace; each generation cries, each longing for release, while war still plagues the human race and families seek a hiding place.
How long will human life suffer for human greed? How long must race or pride, wealth, nationhood or creed be reasons justifying death to suffocate a nation’s breath?
For everyone who dies we share a quiet grief; the pain of loss remains, time rarely brings relief: and so we will remember them and heaven sound a loud amen.
How precious is the knowledge,
the spirit in a life.
Unique, each precious person,
none walks the self-same life.
We must treasure up each witness
if we’re to live beyond such strife.
Andrew Pratt in honour of Holocaust survivors. 27/1/2022
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