Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Trinity Sunday: Come to the Table


Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
Psalm 8
Romans 5:1-5
John 16:12-15


Recently I was fortunate enough to spend five days working with the iconographer Peter Pearson.  Now, if you know Joyce Tanner, our diocesan iconographer, you will know that Peter is her teacher.  So, with Joyce and many others, I was able to take instruction from the teacher’s teacher.  In the hall of St Timothy’s Roman Catholic Church in Morro Bay, Peter led our group in prayer and painting.  It was a powerful experience, as I was challenged to see my efforts, and my reactions to my efforts, in the wider contexts of my own spirituality.  For example, delighted by the beauty being revealed on the board, or in the play of some particular colors, I found myself asking why I was so much less aware of the beauty of those colors played out in the creation around me, in my everyday comings and goings?  Equally, frustrated by what seemed a mis-stroke of the brush or crooked line, I was brought face-to-face with my general frustrations at the imperfections of life, as well my tendency towards unnecessary worry and anxiety.  In the process, the icon was incredibly forgiving; why cannot I be the same?  The process, became for me a prayer of gentle, but honest self-examination. 

It seems that when it comes to icon writing, no matter how much we may think we are forming or creating the images, the image itself is forming or creating us, at least as much – if not more so.  Certainly, this is one of the crucial dimensions of praying with icons more generally, that in contemplating them we are drawn not only towards the reality to which they point, but also that the image itself in its composition and color draws our mind and spirit to contemplate ourselves in its light.  The tenderness in the  eyes of Mother of the God, may gently confront us with the need to open our hearts towards places and people in our world where compassion is most needed.  The longing face and outstretched hands of the Magdalene seeking to come closer to the risen Christ, may accuse our own lukewarm commitment to the resurrection life.  The forward-leaning kings following the star and carrying their gifts to the new-born Christ, may draw our hearts and minds to seek that Christ more completely and offer to him our talents and abilities more willingly for the work of his kingdom.  Like all prayer, praying with icons is about entering into the reality before us – physical and spiritual – and letting the encounter change us.

When we gathered in Morro Bay, Peter led us in writing – the technical term for icon painting – writing an icon of the hospitality of Abraham, the story from Genesis in which three wandering strangers are welcomed and served by Abraham and his wife Sarah.  It is an ancient theme in icon-writing, and in the oldest representations Abraham and Sarah are shown bringing food to the three young men – later perceived to be angels – and their servants preparing it.  However, in the early 15th century the icon writer Andrei Rublev created a “new” image of this narrative in which, as Peter writes, “[he] captures the essence [of the scene] by eliminating elements that would obscure the understanding of who is seated at the table.”  From the early days of the Church, Christians saw in this story of Abraham’s and Sarah’s encounter a pre-figuring of the Trinitarian mystery later to be revealed, and so in his rendering of the scene Rublev strips away all the traditional elements in order to highlight this reality.  In so doing he gets to the heart of why we have icons at all: as windows drawing us beyond themselves so that we might palpably contemplate the mystery they represent.  They invite us to stand face-to-face with the reality being signified, but also with the reality of ourselves and our world; and they call us to transformation of both.  The simplicity of Rublev’s Trinity does all this as we are drawn into table fellowship with the three figures gathered there.  They welcome us, without overwhelming us.  As mentioned previously, in early iconic representations of the Hospitality of Abraham the space before the table was peopled with other figures – Abraham and Sarah offering food to the three angels as well as a servant killing the fatted calf.  However, Rublev, by dispensing with these figures and motifs, leaves an open place before the table.  Here there is nothing to come between us and this deep mystery of our faith. 

Look for a moment at the card accompanying today’s bulletin.  It is a representation based on Rublev’s masterpiece.  Gathered round on three sides of the table are the three figures: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  You, we, the Church are at the fourth side, being welcomed not only to the feast, but to the very life of the Trinity.  While in earlier representations of the event, it is Abraham and the Sarah, that is, humanity, that offer a welcome and hospitality to the divine figures, in Rublev’s it God himself who is the host, who like the figure of Wisdom in the Hebrew Scriptures cries: “[Come,] my fruit is better than gold, even fine gold, and my yield than choice silver”  (Proverbs 8:4, 19); and who like Jesus in the Gospel calls: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28); and who like God in the book of Revelations urgently invites: “The Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let everyone who hears say, Come.  And let everyone who is thirsty come.  Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” (Revelation 22:17)  In this one image is revealed what is at the heart and end of the Christian enterprise – an absolute sharing in the life of the divine, triune mystery which is God.  The welcome is spoken, the water of baptism is set out, as is the bread of the new life, and the Lord beckons all who will listen, welcomes all who will come. 

This is, of course, only one reading the icon, but at the immediate present a helpful one.  As we enter the season after Pentecost, it is helpful to remember we do so in the presence of and in fellowship with God.  As we witness Harper’s baptism and as she is welcomed to the Eucharistic table, it is helpful to remember our own baptism, and come ourselves to the Lord’s altar renewed with a vision of God’s compassionate care, and absolute passion for his people.  The beauty of an icon lies not primarily in its color or composition or even subject, but in its in-exhaustive simplicity; like any image of the divine or the holy, an icon’s meaning or significance can never be fully plumbed.  Indeed, much depends on our mind-set and concerns as to what truths it may yield as any given point.  To paraphrase St Augustine, properly understood, they are mysteries ever ancient and ever new.  Nevertheless, honestly encountered, carefully attended they will yield for us glimpses of truth, invite us into ongoing dialogue between the human and the divine, strengthen us to serve God’s world in a pattern of beauty and holiness.

If you have no icons, get on which might be meaningful for you, better yet enter into the prayerful process of creating one.  In the meantime, take this simple card and spend some time listening and watching for God’s invitation to you.
           

Monday, May 20, 2013

Pentecost: The Spirit Cries: "What Can be Done?"


Acts 2:1-21
Psalm 104:25-35,37
Romans 8:14-17
John 14:8-17, 25-27

John Mason Neale was one of the leading lights of the Oxford Movement, and while many today know him best as a hymn writer, one of his most lasting influences was in his revival of religious communities in the Church of England, and by extension the rest of the Anglican Communion.  The middle of the 19th century was a time of profound social change in Britain.  The industrialization of the nation which had brought so much wealth and progress, also created extreme poverty and dislocation.  The cities crowded with people seeking work in the new factories, while the countryside was left bereft of enough people to work the land and carry out traditional occupations.  Whether in the cities or in the country the parochial system of the time – unchanged since the Middle Ages – was simply incapable of meeting people’s needs.  John Mason Neale looked around, and asked the question, “What can be done?  What can I do?”  He saw – as he described it – “the miserable inadequacy of…the parochial system to reach those poor scattered cottages, and huts, those distant farms and hamlets….It flashed into my mind, ‘If I could have but women to do the work.’ ”  What he proposed was a shocking solution – to get women involved directly in the work of ministry by founding in the Church of England a religious community of sisters, whose especial vocation would be care of the poor, sick and underprivileged.  With the help of Miss Ann Gream, who became one of the order’s first sisters, Neale  established the Society of Saint Margaret.  Their work began in the countryside of Sussex in southern England, but very soon after daughter houses were established in the larger cities – Aberdeen in 1864, London in 1866 – and in 1873 the Sisters of St Margaret came to Boston, Massachusetts.  There they too looked around and asked “What can be done?  What can we do?”  They looked to meet the needs of their new context, and so they supervised the Children’s Hospital, established a school of embroidery, a parish school, and a soup kitchen, among many other ministries.  Eventually houses were established in Montreal in Canada, Washington DC, Newark, NJ, Bracebridge, Ontario, Lexington, KY and in 1927 in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.  In each of those places the sisters looked to see what could be done, what they could bring to the situation to relieve the plight of the poorest, and to make known God’s love and care.  The sisters in Port-au-Prince founded among other ministries Le Foyer de Note Dame – the hearth of Our Lady – a home for elderly women who were alone or whose families were unable to fully care for them.  The brutal fact, is that in many poor families, those who are strong and able to work get the lion’s share of food and medical care.  Needs sometimes demand that the old and weak get considerably less.  The sisters continue this work there, and much more, to this day.

But why this story, this history, of the Society of St Margaret?  Well, we have a special relationship with the sisters in Port-au-Prince through our diocesan connection with the diocese of Haiti, but there is much more to it than that.  The story of the society – its founding and subsequent ministry – has something powerful to say to us as we celebrate Pentecost, because it challenges us with the challenge of Pentecost itself: “What can be done?  What is to be done?  What can I do?  What can we do?”  The first followers of Jesus – as we discussed last week – after his ascension, hid themselves away in the upper room, willing to pray and wait, but not knowing what to do now as their whole world changed around them.  Like Neale, they too had an “aha’ moment when the Spirit flashed into them – quite literally – and they realized what needed to be done, what they had to do; and it was as shocking in its time as involving women directly in the Church’s ministry was in Neale’s.  They had to leave the safety of their room, the safety of their defined and delineated identities, go beyond the social, religious and physical  boundaries of their world and by their words and lives tell the world the Good News of God’s inclusive love and salvation, “that everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Acts 2:21) and they did this it by using any gifts and talents made available to them in he new-found power of the Holy Spirit.  The Acts of the Apostles tells us that those first Christians shared their goods in common as a sign of the trust they had in God and the care they had for each other, that the first apostles went out and healed the sick and delivered people of the distresses that possessed them, that they spoke boldy about Jesus and the Good News.  In short, they continued the ministry of Jesus: to bring good news to the poor, release to captives, recovery of sight to the blind and freedom to the oppressed. (cf. Luke 4:18-19)  Like every Christian since then, to do all this they had been equipped by the Holy Spirit, the power of God active and working; the same spirit active in John Mason Neale, in Ann Gream and in all the Sisters of St Margaret throughout the world who came after her.  They were gifted with the Spirit in the form of talents, ablities, experiences which enabled them to make the life of the Spirit – the life of God – a reality in the world.

In every age God pours his Holy Spirit among his people, and it is the Spirit that brings to fulness our inherent gifts and talents, enables us to put into perspective the time allotted to us here on earth.  It is the Spirit who drives us to place these at the disposal of the work of the Kingdom.  Paul tells the Romans that “when we cry, Abba! Father! it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God.” (Romans 8:15b-16)  Equally, when we ask oursleves, “What is to be done?  What can I do?” it is the Spirit driving us forward to offer the gifts and talents which God himself has given us so we might further his kingdom, reveal his vision for the world.  As we celebrate Pentecost today in this place, God invites us to be quickened by the Spirit into asking “What is to be done?”  “What can I do.”  For some weeks now, we have been considering how God might be calling us to place at his Church’s disposal our time and talents.  Today we are offered the opportunity to do just that.  The greater Church invites us to offer something for the work of Foyer de Notre Dame, and the local Church – our parish – invites us to offer our time and talents for the building of the kingdom right here in Hanford.  These requests today come in the form of an envelope marked simply, Haiti, and of a Time and Talents Pledge Card.  Each challenge us and help us respond to the Spirit’s prompting questions: “What is to be done?  What can I do?”  There is so much to be done, in our world and more locally.  If we as a parish are to respnd to it effectively, we must respond first as individuals.  What is the Spirit calling you to do.  How is the Spirit showing you what you can do?  All we do here at the Church of the Saviour is ultimately for the revealing of the kingdom, it all matters as we look to showing the world God’s abiding presence within it.

Perhaps we will none of us be called to found or join a monastic community, or to walk the streets preaching the Gospel and healing the sick, or to speak in various tongues.  Nevertheless, each of us who has been baptized, who has been called, the Spirit urges forward to help realize in some way the reality of God’s kingdom and vision.  The Spirit cries within us – within you – “What can be done?  What can you do?”  How will you respond?

Seventh Sunday of Easter: Living in the Inbetween


Acts 16:16-34
Psalm 97
Revelation 11:12-14, 16-17, 20-21
John 17.20-26

Last Thursday was Ascension Day, the feast on which we recall that forty days after his resurrection from the dead Jesus returned to his Father; when we recall that Jesus left his disciples in order that he might send to them the Holy Spirit, the Advocate; as he said, “I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth.” (John 16.7, 13a) Yet, today, the Seventh Sunday of Easter – the Sunday after Ascension Day – we sit with Jesus’ followers – with the whole Church – in an in-between period, in a period of waiting.  Jesus has left, but the Spirit, the Advocate, has not yet come.  The ascension of Jesus left unanswered questions: “When will the kingdom be restored?” “Where has Jesus gone?” “When will the Spirit come?” “What will the Spirit’s coming mean?” And Jesus’ followers, with their questions returned to Jerusalem to wait; and they waited I am sure with a degree of uncertainty, because all that they had expected to happen had not happened.  Indeed, after Jesus’ resurrection very little had changed. They expected that the Messiah, after conquering death by his resurrection, would certainly vanquish the powers of evil and death in the world; at the very least, that he would free God’s chosen people from the yoke of foreign occupation and return power into their hands.  It is safe to say that they were not a little disappointed.  Like so many people who expect change to happen, they expected change to be effected from outside themselves.  They wanted answers and awaited that they would come somehow from above.  But, like so often, God had different things in mind.

The followers of Jesus returned to the upper room, and the writer of the Acts of the Apostles says that there they were “constantly devoting themselves to prayer”.  Tradition tells us that for nine days they waited there in prayer and expectation, and this is a crucial point. They returned to that upper room which had become so important for them – the scene of the Last Supper and of so many of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances – and they returned there to pray, perhaps in disbelief or wonderment, probably with a certain amount of confusion.  But those nine days gave them some perspective.  Those nine days allowed them to imagine what life would now be like that Jesus had definitely returned to the Father.  Those nine days helped them to discern their own power, gifts and abilities, because with Jesus’ leaving they had to seek out and discern a new way to be in the world.

In those nine days, it seems they learned that God’s plan for the world would not come from above, as a solution coming from outside themselves, but rather that they were the instruments and means by which God’s plans would be brought to fruition; that the promised Spirit was not something which would come from outside and possess them, so much as something which was conceived by God and born in them, by which God’s life and purposes would be revealed.  Of course, this would take a complete shift in their understanding of how God would work.  Up until now they had understood Jesus to be God’s sole agent for change and transformation in the world, but those nine days of prayer would expose them to a broader and deeper understanding.  Somehow, they discerned that God was calling them into partnership and it changed their whole perspective on their lives in the world.  Those nine days of prayer enabled them to accept their own responsibility and involvement in making the kingdom of God a reality.  It enabled them to be able to accept the Spirit, and its demanding presence in their lives.

The God revealed to us in the life and teachings of Jesus is a God who always calls us into partnership in making the divine purposes a reality.  If it is true that in Jesus is revealed to us who God is and how God acts in the world, it should not have surprised his early followers that there would be no sudden divine intervention from above to change the circumstances of the world.  Even during his earthly life Jesus sent them out into the world to share the good news of God’s love.  At the feeding of the multitudes he instructed them specifically to feed the people and to oversee the distribution of the loaves and fishes.  He taught them that they were the salt of the earth, giving savour to the creation.  He taught them, saying, “You [italics added] are the light of the world. [L]et your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5.14a, 16)  It is clear from Jesus’ life and teaching that the way in which God, and God’s purposes, are made known in the world is through God’s people.  Perhaps it took Jesus’ followers those nine days to really remember how Jesus was with them, and to realise what God was really asking of them.

I mentioned earlier that the awaited Holy Spirit is not something which comes from above and possesses us, but rather the awaited Holy Spirit is born in us as the power of God and enables us to unleash our own power.  It is the power of God which encourages us to discover our own abilities.  It is the power of God which instructs us to discern our own wisdom.  It is power of God which quickens us to live out our own vocations and God’s purposes in the world.  It is not magic, but the Spirit’s coming springs from our very decision to take up our part in God’s plans.  When we make that decision to align ourselves with God, then we tap into the very power which sustains the entire universe, the whole of creation.  However, we have to be willing to align ourselves with that power; willing to take responsibility for our part in the kingdom, giving  up some false ideas, however deeply cherished, of how God works in the world.  That is why those nine days were crucial.  They were important because it was the time which those followers of Jesus used to face themselves, and when they did that then all sorts of things happened which they had not expected.  When they did that God’s power, which the Church calls the Holy Spirit, was unleashed in their lives in new and surprising ways.

We too want the power of God to be unleashed in our lives, even though we do not always act as if we do.  Nevertheless, if we are honest with ourselves, it is our deepest longing – for God to surprise us into partnership, for God to awaken us into our vocation, for God to encourage us into our gifts.  If we sincerely do not, then I am not quite sure why we are here at all.  Yet, this awakening to God’s power is not magic, neither does it happen by magic.  We often need to change our perspective, we sometimes need to give up our sense of being right, we usually need to let go of the old; and as much as we may want to be surprised by God those things are very difficult to do.  They can only be done within the context of time and prayer.  This time of prayer and discernment is represented by the nine days between Ascension and Pentecost; and it seems hardly a coincidence that the time devoted to this was nine days and that the gestation period for a human being is nine months.   There is something of the patience and care of pregnancy in all this.  A mother is no passive subject in a pregnancy, but an active participant.  She prepares herself and her life for the full manifestation and appreciation of that which is in already in her.  So it is with us.  God’s purpose is not that we should be passive subjects of the great work of the kingdom, but that through the Holy Spirit conceieved in us we should be active participants in its fullest revelation.  To that end we must prepare ourselves in prayer and fellowship; prepare ourselves to be surprised, to change our perspective, to come into our vocations, to work out God’s purposes in our lives, communities and world.

We have one week until Pentecost when we recall and celebrate the manifestation of the Holy Spirit among God’s people. I would encourage us to spend some part of each the next seven days in prayer, specifically in the prayer of preparation and expectation. As we ritually recall this in-between time, this time of wondering and questions, let us be aware of our own questions and confusion but also of our calling and vocations, of our own strengths and abilities and how best they can put to the work of God’s kingdom.

Fourth Sunday of Easter: Only Connect...


Acts 9.36-43
Revelation 7.9-17
John 20.22-30

Today, in the Acts of the Apostles we hear the story of the raising of Tabitha from the dead, yet we do not hear the story directly preceeding it, the healing of Aeneas: “Now as Peter went here and there among all the believers, he came down also to the saints living in Lydda. There he found a man named Aeneas, who had been bedridden for eight years, for he was paralyzed. Peter said to him, ‘Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you; get up and make your bed!’ And immediately he got up.  And all the residents of Lydda and Sharon saw him and turned to the Lord.”  (Acts 9.32-35)  The filleting out of these four verses inadvertently hides a central literary motif in Luke-Acts, that of parallelism.  This parallelism is a distinguishing feature of the two volume work.  The author consistently sets together couples in the narratives that parallel each other: in the Gospel of Luke, Mary and Joseph (Luke 1.26-38), Elizabeth and Zechariah (the parents of John the Baptist)  (Luke 1.5-23), Simeon and Anna at Jesus’ presentation in Temple (2.25-38); in the Acts of the Apostles, Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5.1-11), Dionysius and Damaris (Acts 17.34), Priscilla and Aquila (Acts 18.1-4, 18, 26).  The author also pairs together incidents and stories:  the raising from the dead of the widow of Nain’s son (Luke 7.11-17) and the raising from the dead of Jairus’ daughter (Luke 8.41-42, 49-56); the man with the lost sheep and the woman with the lost coin (Luke 15.3-10); the conversion of Cornelius and his whole household (Acts 10) and the conversion of Lydia and her whole household (Acts 16.11-15, 40).  The writer even draws parallels in the narratives with episodes from the Hebrew Scriptures:  the faithlessness of Jesus’ generation with the faithfulness of the Queen of the South and of the people of Nineveh (Luke 11.29-32); the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel (1 Samuel 2.2-10) with the Song of Mary (Luke 2.46b-55); the incomprehension of Babel (Genesis 11.1-9) with the comprehension of Pentecost (Acts 2.1-13);  the raising of the dead by Jesus in the gospel and by his followers in Acts with those effected by the prophets Elijah (1 Kings 17.8-24) and Elisha (2 Kings 4.8-37).  While some scholars see these parallels as predominantly female/male parallels, they are much more than. They are also Old Covenant/New Covenant, Jew/Gentile, believing/unbelieving.  Perhaps the overarching parallel is that of the relative backwater of the province of Judea in which the narrative begins at the start of the Gospel of Luke and the city of Rome, the centre of the civilized world, in which it reaches its conclusion at the end of the Acts of the Apostles. 

Tradition tells us that Luke was a historian.  Certainly, the aim of the work is to show the unfolding of salvation history.  The author conceived of salvation history as divided into three periods: the period of Israel, the period of Jesus and the period of the Church.  And yet, the parallels work to highlight the inherent continuity between all three.  For the author of Luke-Acts,  the God who worked through Elijah to raise from the dead the son of the widow of Zarepath is the same God who was in Jesus raising to life Jairus’ daughter and who worked through Peter in the raising of Tabitha.  The writer wants to convey that the Christ who is present among his followers in the Gospel of Luke – in the period of Jesus, is the same Christ who is present in his followers in the Acts of the Apostles – in the period of the Church.  The parallels are there to highlight continuity, both within each of the periods and across them.  They are also there to highlight the inclusive and comprehensive nature of God and of the Good News made manifest in Jesus.  From a political perspective they are there to highlight to the Roman authorities (at least) that Christianity is not a new movement, but the continuing revelation of an ancient faith; that it shares the same pedigree as Judaism.  But, at the most basic level, the parallelism in Luke seeks to address that most basic of human questions: is life a series of disconnected episodes or does it have continuity and contingency; does it have meaning, purpose, direction? 

Living in the post-modern world, we often think that we are unique, and that any thought of meaning and purpose is somehow challenged in a radically new way by our experience.  For us, the diverse nature of human experience and disparate state of affairs at the beginning of the 21st century seem particularly and uniquely to give the lie to purpose, meaning, direction.  Yet our earliest Christian ancestors too lived in a disparate and unsure world.  The Roman world at the start of the first millennium was no picnic.  The answer offered by Christianity and which is conveyed with a particular literary motif in the Luke-Acts is that there is meaning, purpose, direction; that things are connected one to another and that that connection has significance.  The writer of Luke-Acts points out places of connection, and ways in which those connections give significance and direction to the human enterprise.  The message is that we can trust, that God is faithful, that Christ is present.  And how do we know that?  Because our life and experiences are not just isolated episodes.  They are part of an unfolding narrative that can be traced and charted, an unfolding narrative which finds its direction and purpose in the life of God, and through God’s will and power is manifested in God’s creatures and creation.

Our seemingly episodic, disparate lives and world sometimes work to make us forget the connectedness of all things in God and the inclusion of all things in God.  The writer of Luke-Acts can the draw the parallels and make the connections because, in the grand scheme of things – in God – Judea is not all that separate from Rome, neither is neighbour separate from stranger, woman from man, Jew from Gentile.  In God they all touch and connect, they all “live and move and have their being” (Acts 17.28).  In the resurrection of Jesus, even death and life are not that disconnected one from the other.  Indeed, they are revealed as intimately connected.  The opposites that we so willingly accept as we move through life day to day are not the reality that is revealed to us in God.

In his novel, Howard’s End, E.M. Forster writes “Only connect…only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.”  In a sense the author of Luke-Acts says the same.  Through the literary motif of parallelism the author has connected stories in order to reveal and perhaps make more clear the workings of God in the world.  As we re-tell the Christian story, the Good News, in our own age we too must do the same.  We too must construct it and present it in such a way that conveys meaning and purpose, that allows the hearers to make connections, that reveals the unity in God of even the most disparate of things, the most disparate of events, the most disparate peoples.  We must tell it in such a way that reveals God’s working in the world through the events of the world, and thereby both discern and construct meaning, purpose, direction

The message the writer of Luke-Acts is seeking to convey is simply this, that the God who worked through Peter to heal Aeneas and raise Tabitha to new life from the dead, is the same God who worked among the Hebrew people and who was present in Jesus; and he is the same God who continually works and is present in the Church, for now and for eternity.  He is the same God who works through  this community to raise us up as we contiue to create a cohesive narrative, as we continue to live out and live into the promises of our baptism; as we continue to live and love into the reality of the resurrection.  In what we do we are everyone one of us called to draw the connections, reveal the same God, the same purposes, the same design: new life.  Only connect, discern the meaning in the events, draw together in God the disparate elements.  If I may paraphrase Mr Forster: “Only connect and both human and divine love will reveal their purposes and be seen at their height.”