For whom the cock crows

How many times did Jesus call?
Andrew started it -
he followed John;
then changed to Jesus.

He went to get his brother
Simon would rather have carried on fishing.
"I will make you fish for people"
Jesus said.
Not giving him much of a choice.

Then - having taken away his job
Jesus took his name away as well:
'Peter' he had to be called from now on
Jesus would explain later.
Perhaps.

So Peter never belonged.
Not that anyone else did
but he less than most.

Every time he thought he had got it right
he was slapped down.
"Shall we make three shelters?"
"Don't be stupid"
"Why go to Jerusalem if you will be killed there?"
"Get behind me Satan."

Was it really that bad?
He was only trying to help,
only trying to belong,
to find someone to be close to.

So his natural place was in the courtyard,
outside with the servants,
outside with the outsiders.
In the kitchen at parties
Never at the centre,
in the thick of it.

Ignored for so long
naturally he thought no one would notice.
He could take up his usual place:
observing from the edge
on the outside looking in.
At least there he couldn't put his foot in it could he?

"You were with him"
"No I wasn't"
"This is one of them"
"No I'm not"
"Your accent gives you away"
"What are you talking about. For Christ's sake."

Oops

The cock crew

As Jesus said it would

Well it always did didn't it.
It's what cocks do,
close to dawn.
It's what they do best
It's in their nature.

As certain as human betrayal.
Second nature to look after number one.
And what was the harm
it wouldn't save Jesus, or condemn him:
to lie to strangers.
What did they know?

But Peter knew
and so did Jesus
That each betrayal
left Peter further outside
and Peter wept
From loneliness.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Build your house on the sand

Jesus got it wrong
He told us not to build our house on the sand
But to build on rock.

He should have known we would take it literally:
that we would do what we were told
and build our churches
on rock, out of rock.
Rock walls, rock floors,
rock roofs, rock doors
without an entrance and without an exit.

Rituals set in stone
tablets passed down.
Worship only
in fixed places, with fixed rules
and a fixed service, for fixed people.
No danger there.

A place of protection.
Safe from being washed away
of being swept up by the tide
and carried off to new places
new experiences.

And luckily
no space for the spirit to get at us
no embarrassing spiritual stuff allowed.

But also a place of imprisonment.
If no-one can get in
we cannot get out.
A place of isolation.
Others cannot join us
nor we reach out to them

But Jesus didn't build on rock
he didn't practice what he preached.
He went beyond the literal
and saw the creative
possibilities of sand.
He called Peter:
"On this rock I will build."
What a joke.
Not Peter
Mr Shifting Sands himself.
Always getting it wrong
always bottling out.
Unlovable
sink, not swim, Peter.

"Peter do you love me"
"Maybe, sometimes"

"Feed my sheep:
Not from rocks
Not from stones
But with flesh and blood
for people of flesh and blood.

"People living on sand
threatened by the flood
overwhelmed by the world
or taken by the tide of the spirit
they know not where.

"So build on sand
impermanent castles
which can be adapted to need;
or swept away
as God calls us on
or moves ahead of us.

"Build on people
Insecure people
Inadequate people
but real people
searching people
people who know their need of God.

"Like Peter
"On this rock
I will build my church."

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Tears and towels

Everything was just right
Crockery and cutlery ritually clean
Food strictly kosher
Each guest in their proper place
Orders of precedence observed.
Conversation turning to higher things

Then a murmur of disapproval
as the calm is broken,
a stranger come amongst them
a woman at that.
The distraction of scent and sexuality.
She can't be a member.

"I know I'm not good enough
but they won't notice me.
If I'm found they'll turn me away
I'll be rejected again
but it won't be the first time.
Only wanted when needed
only loved when used
Every time you think love is forever
every time you lose a bit of yourself.

"If I can just get close to him
If I can touch the hem of his robe
But the tears blind my eyes
as they sprinkle his feet
and I've no towel but my hair."

And the murmur grows louder
as right is proclaimed.
The woman must go
lest she sully the feast
with her earthy perfume
and the smell of her sex.

But Jesus stands up:
"Let her go free
Just bring me a towel.

"Have you, Simon, forgotten,
How you were caste out:
a leper unwelcome
till healed by a love
that cured by including
enfolding and healing.
Does your healing enable
your feelings of grandeur?
That you are entitled
to judge and condemn
those not yet whole:
to despise and exclude them."

So he took up the towel
and began to wash the feet
of all those at the table.
Till he came up to Peter

"Not me.
Wash them Lord not me."

"Yes you Peter,
especially you.
This woman has known love
and has shown love.
If you don't accept love
How do you expect to give love."

"Then it's not just my feet
That need to be washed
but my mind and my heart
both need to be cleansed."

"Too right," said Jesus
"Too right."

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Healing Peter

If he could heal the mother-in-law, he could do anything
Walk on water
calm a storm
raise the dead
all came naturally to him.

It began with fish
153 of them - he made us count them. No one knows why.
We had fished as usual through the night and caught little.
Then Jesus called from the shore
"Throw your net on the other side."
As if carpenters knew how to fish.
We could hardly pull the net in.

But although he had suggested it,
it wasn't his miracle. It was ours.
Well OK. He did it through us.
Or he showed us that we could do
what we thought was impossible.
That miracles are about believing in yourself.
Something I have never been good at.

"Heal the sick," he said.
As if we knew how
"Go out in twos and get on with it," he said.
"Bring the dead back to life and drive out demons."

The first time, a shadow
watched from the back as tentatively
I stretched out my hands.
"Three hands touched me," the sick one said.
"Of course," I said, startled myself,
"the hand of God rested on you beside mine."

And is the pain inside
the revenge of the demons I've driven from others.
The needs of others leaving my own needs unmet.

Jesus says, "come. Don't be afraid."
But often the water has risen around me
threatened to overwhelm me.
Even his outstretched hand cannot keep me from sinking.
Save me Lord.

And the beggar at the gate
begging bowl out
as if we had money.
"Look at us," I said.
"Worn sandals, torn cloak,
does it look as if we have anything.
But we'll share what we have
if you get up and walk!"

So the man got up and joined us
then went and shared his healing,
praising God, sharing the gift.

It's as natural as breathing
to reach out and touch
to include and enfold
across the divide not just of illness
but of fear and prejudice too.

To reach out and touch
is to reunite God's fractured spirit
to reignite the fire of his love.

It came as a bit of a surprise though
when even my shadow healed
just as the shadow of Jesus
had supervised me.

Simon Magus wanted to buy the gift.
Which was daft
Since he already had it for free:
He just had to accept it as a gift
and offer it freely to others

"Go and do likewise."
"As I have washed you so go and wash."
The young the old
The dispossessed
All have the gift
All are ministers now
All are healers now.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Fly away Peter, fly away Paul

The gentiles were mine
Luke had even put it in the minutes
at Jerusalem.
You can read it there
'Peter stood up and said,
"God made a choice that I should be the one
through whom the gentiles would hear the message."'
No one disagreed.

The vision was mine
The prompting to meet Cornelius.
When I saw the vision:
A cloth from heaven:
Bats and slugs and spiders and snakes.
I knew these too are God's gifts to us.
I knew enough to see it meant
God has no particular favourites.
No chosen people or chosen creatures -
all are his favourites:
to be used and abused
for good or ill.

Salvation is about
overcoming the division
between rich and poor
male and female
Jew and gentile
black and white
Christian and Muslim
Israeli and Palestinian
sick and well:
all are part of the greater wholeness
of God's world.

So what does Paul think that he's on about:
telling the Galatians that he was made
an apostle to the gentiles
and I was to go to the Jews;
calling us dogs,
telling us to castrate ourselves.

Since when did he follow the rules anyway
he stayed with Jews and preached in synagogues.
If he had stuck to the gentiles he would have had less trouble.
Both of us were in the same boat
both at times close to sinking.

We thought we knew what was right and wrong
and especially who was right and who was wrong.
"Wrong," said Jesus

What makes you unclean
has nothing to do with what you eat
or even what you do
or who you associate with.
It's what you are inside:
Angry, jealous;
Creating rivalries or factions;
but guilty and depressed too.

And God
with his infinite sense of humour,
sends you to those who most wind you up.
The rich find themselves in the slums
the fisherman are sent to preach to rulers.

And our arguments and jealousies
over religion and politics
pale into insignificance
against the needs of the world.
The need for inclusion
the need for acceptance
which religion cannot answer.

So fly away Peter
Fly away Paul
Make way for God

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Hiding from fear

"Go like sheep among wolves,
with roaring lions prowling round.
You will be arrested and beaten,
taken to court;
your families divided against you;
nations will be at war:
but you, be at peace."

Hang on
Did I miss something there?
Where is the peace in that.

Not surprising that the disciples
hide behind locked doors for fear.
Locked in fear.
Not knowing what to do next.

Jesus dead.
OK, he had reappeared,
but then left again.
Enigmatic as ever.
The Spirit had come in power - then nothing.
We were on our own

But then things just got worse.
It all came true.

Paul said at least I had my wife with me.
Well I did for a time,
till she got fed up
With the constant travel.
The constant conflict
"You bring it on yourself," she said.
And found herself a life,
A place to put down roots.

Jesus knew it would happen:
He said we had to give up families -
Wives, children, friends
For his sake.
We would be rewarded, he said

Then they came for me.
I was locked away, shut in,
held down by chains,
unable to move.
As the guards like lions roar around.

And worse is the fear I carry inside.
Fear of failure,
Fear of others,
Fear of self.
Not knowing what to say.
Knowing I will be left behind,
Rejected, or worse ignored

Jesus said: "Peace."
For others perhaps not for me.

Then an angel appeared,
the chains fell off,
the gates fell open.
And the guards had their turn to fear.
I thought it was over.
Now I would be welcomed back.

But as I approached the door
I knew the disciples were too busy for me.
Only Rhoda noticed me
outside in the cold
and she left me there to go tell the others.

And the disciples
Too busy to notice,
Got on with their meeting
Planning and praying.
Or perhaps afraid
of the guards close behind
hammering on the door

So I went away
Carrying my prison with me.
I turned away again
and went off
alone.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

My name is Peter

My name is Peter

I need to talk.

Something happened a few years ago that I need to work through.
I've never spoken of it before
- or rather I've never stopped speaking of it but never of the way I feel.
I've always pushed it away really - rationalised it
- something I've tried to convince others about
but never looked at what it means to me, inside.
It would be too painful, I don't like people to get too close.

Anyway it's left me with a whole range of emotions and feelings I can't cope with.
So when I saw the advert for the group I thought I'd come.
Most of all I don't feel loved.
I don't expect to be.
Well I couldn't, not after what I've done.
Or perhaps it was what I failed to do.
I'm constantly on edge, irritable.

I can't see the point - there's not a lot to look forward to is there.

Everyone goes on as if nothing has happened,
though the whole world has changed - can't they see that.
Busy with their own little lives, their own petty quarrels.
But what does it matter after what happened.

I get these nightmares. People fighting. Shouting too.
In the dark its hard to see. There are torches,
but among the trees - the trees and people look the same.
I want to run, but the soldiers - they're everywhere.
I've been running ever since.

It's no better when I'm awake.
I keep seeing this person, just as if he were next to me.
You could reach out and touch him, if you dared.
But I saw him die. I saw him dead.
I caused his death.
Maybe that's why he won't leave me alone.

But it's not just him, it's everywhere.

The slightest sounds startle me - from the moment those damned cockerels start next door in the morning.
Walking down the street, the banging of the builders
- always hammering, nails into wood:
and I'm back there - the hammering,
nails into wood, into hands, into wood, into feet.
And the cock crows again.

What really irritates me is Paul's self-confidence,
self-assurance, but he wasn't there was he.
He didn't see, he didn't hear,
he didn't smell the hatred of the crowd.
And he dares to criticise us for hiding.
He'll never understand.

The truth is, it should have been me.
I should never have survived, and I wish to God I hadn't.

But at the time I was numb, in disbelief.
After three years it seemed as if we would go on forever. There were problems, there always are if you live that close to someone.
And we knew the authorities didn't like us
- we worked outside their structures and they had promised to get us for that.
But I didn't expect it to end so suddenly
and not somewhere we had been a thousand times before.

And now they are coming for me. Tomorrow probably.

I ran away, as per usual.
But then I met him, as per usual.
"Where are you going?" he said.
"I've a place waiting for you," he said.

After all I've done, the betrayals, the anger, the pain I've caused. He still comes after me.
He still wants me. He still loves me.

Death comes easy: It's the love that's hard to take.

©Peter G Ashby 2008
Easter 1996
First Published in the Clinical Theology Association Newsletter No 69 January 1997

In praise of foolish virgins

I hate those prissy wise virgins
what they need is
something to penetrate that
aren't we clever self-righteous
shell they have built around themselves.
Always right, never late,
never a wick out of place.
Trying to upstage even the bride
Trying to pretend the bridegroom
Is after them really.
Letting him know what he is missing.
Never to know the warmth of human loving.

And they knew of course
who the messiah was
and when he would come
so they wait
outside the temple of a distant god.

Not that he helped
Are you the Messiah?
Could be - who wants to know?

But the wise virgins knew
nothing better to do
than hang around.
No life to lead
not prepared to share with a sister in need.
Keeping their oil, like their bodies, to themselves.

Not like those labelled foolish
open, expectant, longing
for the warmth of human loving.
Who got on with life
and had a life to get on with.

They would have shared
their last drop of oil with another
and taken the risk
that they would miss the messiah in the darkness
and instead find themselves.

Instead, find in the closeness,
the contact with another,
as oiled bodies meet,
and flesh joins to flesh,
that God is found
not in sterile waiting rooms outside wedding chapels of strangers
but in the warmth of human loving.
In the discovery that we are not made to be alone
but to care and share and love another.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Father Forgive

The Lord's prayer tells us to forgive as we are forgiven -
no more and no less.

Let us forgive so that we can be forgiven.
Forgive us so that we can forgive
We are forgiven if we forgive others
we forgive others if we know we are forgiven.

Guilt blocks the way to God
But so does anger and blame.
All anger is righteous to the one who is angry.
Anger is guilt projected onto another.
Anger turns on itself when it has no other to attack
Guilt is anger turned in on the self;

If we forgive others it helps us to feel that they are the problem, not us:
so we "forgive" the blacks; the reds; the whites; the greens
and feel so good that we forget
we might need to be forgiven by them too.

If we are forgiven it helps us to feel we have got away with it one more time;
next time it will be easier.

We think we have to say sorry
Jesus says we are already forgiven
We think God can only love us when we are perfect
Jesus tells us he loves us as we are
We think we need to improve ourselves
Jesus tells us only God can do that
We judge people by what they are
and set ourselves over them
We want others to say sorry
Jesus offered forgiveness and enabled them to feel sorrow

But it was regarded as blasphemy to offer forgiveness unconditionally -
what if everyone did it,
the world would never be the same again.

When we forgive we expect the penitent to come crawling
To say they were wrong; we were right.
When Jesus forgave it did not demean the forgiven but freed them
We identify others with their sin

Jesus identified himself with sinners
and freed them from their sin
Jesus accepted people as they are
and by that acceptance let them be what he would have them be
Jesus says 'go and do likewise'.

We ask for a sign
We are given the sign of Jonah
Jesus washed up after three days on the shore
between the waves of our guilt
and the cliffs of anger we defend ourselves with.

We hem ourselves in with guilt over habits and peccadilloes
we barely touch our guilt for the major issues
A planet dying - choked on our waste
Millions of babies killed each year,
before birth has set them free of their mothers "choice"
More millions starving so that we can collect our bank interest.

If we can't cope with guilt and anger over our minor faults
How are we to cope with all of these?
Or is it best to opt out and let others concern themselves if they will?
And restrict the preaching of the gospel to only half the population
Then we will be less bothered by its more difficult bits.

Perhaps only God can cope
If we let him
If we take it to him in prayer

God can and does forgive even those, or especially those,
who will not and cannot forgive themselves;
and who as a result cannot and will not forgive others:
who feel guilty about being angry
and angry about being guilty
ad infinitum......

Jesus opens the circle
brings light to the darkness
points us to the end of the tunnel.

It is only unforgivable to deny the spirit
The Spirit is a spirit of forgiveness
so it is only unforgivable to say that it is unforgivable....

God sets us free
opens us to forgiveness
opens us to forgive
forgives us when we are not open
forgives our knots.... our nots....

©Peter G Ashby 2008

The smell of cooped up angels

"It's all this smell of cooped up angels worries me."
Christopher Fry A Sleep of Prisoners 1951

"That's no way to talk about your brother,"
said Jesus to Martha, when she told him Lazarus stinks.
"After all he has been dead three days."

"Clear out the cave
Let Lazarus live.
Am I the God of the dead or of the living."

The Victorians collected butterflies and kept them in glass cases
pinned down as the colours fade
mocking the freedom of flight.

The church keeps its saints in caskets and phials
To be paraded and displayed under controlled conditions.
See how we have
captured the essence of sanctity,
trapped holiness in our walls,
pinned piety down.

Angels too, if caught,
would have been pickled in formaldehyde
and celebrated on feast days.
"How great we are to have found so great a prize."

But unlock the door
roll back the stone, break open the cases,
let the spirit go free.

What stink would then emerge, as the cooped up angels fly free.
Generations of hot air
mimicking the odour of sanctity.
The must of mildewed books unread.
The linger of yesterday's incense.
Candle grease stained carpets quietly mouldering.
"I will not smell your solemn assemblies,
instead let justice roll like a river."
Like Isaac, seek instead the smell of a field that is blessed

Break down the doors and unlock the windows
Take herbs and fragrant oils
Onycha and cinnamon
Cassia and aloe.
The essence of earth, air, fire and water.
Anoint the church,
let it smell like a field that is blessed.

And let the angels go free.
No longer hampered by ritual or doctrine;
institution or establishment.
But free to take wing on the wind,
to follow the current of the spirit,
across boundaries of peoples and nations.

Let the people proclaim:
not how God worked in the past,
nor how God is in books:
nor to prayer others words.

But her action today:
her action in you:
opening doors
releasing oppression
lifting the crushing weight of history
from your shoulders.

Then smell the fresh air
fill your lungs with the peace
your mind with the hope
of a community of faith
of angels and saints.

And take wing on the wind
on your journey with God.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Maundy Thursday

There is a point
on the sole of the foot
that connects to the genitals.
And which, when touched,
triggers a response.
There are other points on the feet
which connect to the soul,
and when touched
bring healing.

One Maundy Thursday,
as the chosen line up for foot washing,
I notice two groups.

The righteous,
heads held high,
connected already to god
detached from the world
and from earthiness.

The sinners,
only too aware of themselves,
unworthy of god.

As I move to and fro,
anointing the feet,
with a drop of orange blossom,
a touch of patchouli;
I alternate my touch.
and all leave
whole.

©Peter G Ashby 2008

Jesus the wine’s run out

Jesus, the wine’s run out
We’ve all heard it at some time or another.
But this time was different.
Jesus, there’s no more wine.

Stop swearing mother, don’t you think you’ve had enough.
Stay off the sauce,
You know what you are like,
you’ll tell us you’ve been seeing angels again.

It’s not for me, it’s for them.
Everyone is talking.

But it’s neither the time nor the place,
it’s their big day not mine.

Yes, it’s their big day, the groom is getting upset.
Can’t you just this once,
not for me, for them.

And so he does.
And not a little, a lot.
Two or three measures, it says,
but that’s twenty to thirty gallons,
how many units is that!
And the credit goes to the groom
as is right and proper,
for saving the best wine to last.
Only the servants know, and Jesus’ friends and family.

Jesus, not drawing attention to himself,
but seeing a young couple in need, supplies their need.
Caring for people,
not seeking publicity or fame or fortune,
but being involved in the everyday lives of everyday people.
At moments of triumph and celebration,
as much as pain and sadness.

And so he is here now, with us, today.
as we, with Jesus, share their joy.

©Peter G Ashby 2008