Fingers wet from the spilt juice of oranges, and encrusted with gummie bear sugar, I return from the annual Christingle making morning, thinking about sweetness and sharpness, light and dark and the mixed up sentiments of Christmas.
The front page of the newspaper did for me this morning; somebody's beautiful daughter and her grandmother - one of those photos you proudly display at home on the mantlepiece, never dreaming it'll be seen by thousands - illustrate the news that 6 people died in a freak pedestrian accident as a Glasgow bin lorry went out of control the week before Christmas.
For Ministers there's always a heightened awareness of the piercing sorrow of Christmas, the one Mary, and all mothers, know - the bringing to birth of both the greatest gift and the greatest potential for personal sadness. There's always that pre Christmas phone call from the Undertaker that is particularly dreaded. I came straight from a funeral visit to lead an enormous Christingle service one year and it was one of the hardest things.
That's why this afternoon in church, the Christingle light will be brightest when the lights go out. It's in the darkness that the light is seen most fully. Because, like the magi's offering to the child who embodies 'the hopes and fears of all the years', midwinter Christmas is always both dark and bright:
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in a stone cold tomb.
Glorious now, behold him arise,
King and God and sacrifice.
Heaven sings, Alleluia!
Alleluia! the earth replies.
(from We Three Kings).
Shadows seem to have a hard time in the collective imagination, though visually I'm quite a fan.
Associations with things dark and shady mean we prefer light to shadow and we fear what might lurk in the shadows.
Psychology speaks of the shadow side of personality and I've been wondering how this idea links with biblical anthropology.
One of the problems with an over moralised version of Christianity is to focus on outward behaviour (obey this rule, follow these guidelines etc.) whilst neglecting what's going on inside. It's much easier to 'behave yourself' than to be transformed from the inside, with all the murkiness that might be lurking there. But we need to explore and expose the shadows nonetheless.
Or, switching to psychology, the shadow side is the underused parts of our personality. Thinking about the Myers Briggs Personality Type Indicator (MBTI) this would mean, for example, that if you had a preference for Extroversion, looking outwards and being stimulated by externals, exploring your shadow would mean withdrawing and looking inwards for a change.
And if you tended to think before feeling, you would want to embrace the feeling side of you, even if it seemed somewhat scary to do so. And those of us who make quick judgements and like routine and predictability would want to become more open ended and 'go with the flow' (dreadful thought...)
Finally, as I'm trying this Lent, 'iNtuitives' who love abstract theorising and the big picture, would pay more attention to their 5 senses and try and live in the moment more.
In Jungian thought (which is roughly what the MBTI is based on) far from being something to fear and avoid, the shadow side could prove to be the place of most creativity and growth.
I suppose biblically, coming to terms with the shadowy stuff inside and exposing it to the light and love of Christ would be what we call sanctification.
I suspect sanctification and shadow befriending are linked, but I'm not sure how. One thing's for sure, you can't see the shadows without the light.
When in doubt, light a candle.
That seems like a good motto for a Minister. I didn't always light candles; for at least the first 20 years of my Christian life I would have thought it odd to do so, especially if it was to accompany prayer, which in my world view then, you could do without any physical object assisting you.
I have to admit that once you've started lighting candles it's very difficult to stop. Assuming Richard Rohr is right about the spirituality of the second half of life (see his book Falling Upward, published 2012) I suppose I'm moving from being over conceptualised in Christian practice, to exploring more 'sensed' ways of being (i.e. using the 5 senses). It's what I'm trying to do this Lent anyway).
So, the candle. Once that wick gets going it burns steadily and brightly until the wax runs out. This particular tea light holder, one of a pair, is just perfect. It's made of pottery; a bit worn and grubby by now. There are wax stains down the outside, it's a bit scratched and several of the gold stars are discoloured. But, scratched, grubby and stained, it's still holding the light.
It couldn't be a better picture of what St Paul calls the 'earthen vessels' in which we we carry our treasure (2 Corinthians 4:7). Modern translations give us that treasure in 'jars of clay'. For once I prefer the King James version. Because I know exactly what it feels like to be an earthen vessel. Of the earth. Mortal. It accounts for the gap between any dreams I might have for the church, and the reality of ministry - partial, interrupted, subject to relationship strain, relocation, illness, disorganisation, stress, worry, tiredness and just plain forgetfulness.
Earthen vessels, the bodies and lives we carry on in. Reminders that the all surpassing power belongs, not to us, but to God.
The new Sherlock Holmes film was enjoyable, in a kind of top-hatted swashbuckling way, and it made me think how much media such as film and TV influence us. Messages inside film can be powerful and a popular film may even be culturally influential, so to people who are sensitive about the spiritual temperature of society, it does matter what kind of things we are watching. Downton Abbey (much as I love it, especially that kiss in the snow) is really just escapism with a lot of nice frocks thrown in. Reading an Arthur Conan Doyle short story does a lot more for me than seeing 117 highly choreographed shots of Victorian men beating the living daylights out of each other. On the other hand, the recent BBC adaptation of Great Expectations was brilliant and thoughtful - being steeped in the Christian faith, Dickens' writing shows a deep understanding of the human condition which he lays bare inside a fantastic story, infused with the biblical motif of the Prodigal Son. So why aren't we praying for and encouraging more writers who are Christians to use their creative talents in the world of the media? We pray for teachers and vicars, nurses and maybe policemen, but when were you last in church when a Christian screenwriter or advertiser was mentioned? One such is Rhidian Brook, whose TV drama Mr Harvey Lights a Candle (2005) was one of the best written, most thought-provoking and surprising successes that year. The gospel was hidden right in there inside the brilliant script about a has-been RE teacher (Timothy Spall) who takes a group of ungrateful teenagers to Salisbury Cathedral for the day. Brook has since released an uplifting and positive film - Africa United (2010) - about a group of African children who walk 3000 miles to see the World Cup. Rev Richard Coles, Anglican priest, musician and journalist, writing about the influence of Christianity in pop music in last week's Big Issue is another example of someone who's 'in there' making a difference. To fulfil the Christian vocation to be 'salt and light' in the world, we could do with a lot more like them.
