Sharing some thoughts

 Tommy Cooper once told a joke: a man rings the swimming pool and asks, “Is that my local swimming pool?” The receptionist replies, “It depends where you’re phoning from.”  It’s a silly line, but it reminds us how easily people see things differently, how quickly we make judgements without knowing the full story, or worse, by inventing the story we want. Palm Sunday is full of that very human tendency. Crowds flock to Jesus as he enters Jerusalem. John’s Gospel places this moment just after the raising of Lazarus, so excitement is at fever pitch.  People have heard the stories - this miracle worker, this teacher with authority, this man who can even call the dead back to life. Surely this is the king they’ve been waiting for. Surely this is the one who will free them from Rome and restore Israel’s glory. They had already decided what they wanted Jesus to be. They had shaped him in their own image, created their own expectations, and whipped themselves into an emotional fr...

I heard that, back in 2003, a funeral company in Brazil released an advert on local TV with the rather bold motto: “Our clients have never come back to complain.” Well… this morning’s gospel reading (John 11:1–45) gives us the story of someone who very much broke the rule of never coming back! We’ve heard the extraordinary account of Lazarus, the friend of Jesus, who had died and yet lived again. It’s a story that reminds us how quickly life moves on. But in the middle of all that change, this passage gives us one great constant, that is the voice of Jesus saying, “I am the resurrection and the life.” He speaks those words to Martha, Lazarus’ sister. She loved her brother deeply and she believed in Jesus wholeheartedly. And Martha was convinced that if Jesus had only arrived sooner, Lazarus would still be alive. Her faith was strong, but not quite strong enough to imagine what Jesus was about to do next. And who can blame her? She believed Jesus could heal. She believed he could...

  A long time back, I read the story of a twelve year old boy who was born without an immune system, and it has stayed with me ever since. Because even the most ordinary germs could kill him, he spent his entire life inside a sterile plastic bubble. There were no hugs, no handshakes, no human touch at all. Before he underwent a bonemarrow transplant that might finally allow him to live outside that bubble, someone asked him what he most wanted to do if the operation succeeded. His answer was simple but incredibly powerful: “I want to walk barefoot on grass and touch my mother’s hand.” Small things can mean so much. A touch, a hand held, a moment of tenderness. Today’s readings remind us how powerful such care can be, and how love, for all its beauty, can also bring deep pain. And on Mothering Sunday, those emotions sit very close to the surface. For some, today is a day of uncomplicated joy. For others, it is a day that stirs grief, longing, or complicated memories. Our reading...

Today we celebrate St David’s Day, the Patron Saint of Wales, and also the patronal festival here. A double celebration, which surely gives us permission for at least one joke. So, I’ll begin with the wellknown story of the referee who arrived in heaven. He was met by the man in charge, who said, “Welcome. Before you enter Heaven, is there anything you’d like to confess?” The referee shuffled awkwardly. “Well… yes. In an England–Wales international, I gave Wales a penalty that won them the match. I saw the replay afterwards and… it wasn’t a penalty. It’s been on my conscience ever since.” “You don’t need to worry, my son,” said the gatekeeper. “You made the correct decision.” “Oh, thank you, St Peter,” said the referee, relieved. “Oh,” said the gatekeeper, “it’s St Peter’s day off. I’m St David.” Moving swiftly on… It feels particularly appropriate that this year St David’s Day falls in Lent, because David’s life was famously simple, disciplined, and—if we’re honest—probably rather mor...