Our Minister Writes

Not, of course, any words of mine. Many of you will have heard me share my awe at this poem. Crafted sometime in his life by George Herbert, Anglican priest, before his death in 1633, this was one of the many poems collected by a friend with instructions to publish
them if they might help anyone or burn them if they were worthless. It is food for thought that the world might never have got this poem at all; so fragile the threads of history can be.

I remember a retreat with Malcolm Guite, another glorious Anglican priest and poet, who reflected with charming anguish that most poets ruthlessly guard any good image they come up with; yet here is Herbert, freely giving away twenty-eight in one poem! I want to dwell just a little upon that opening image: “Prayer the church's banquet...” How often do we think of prayer as a banquet? What connects banqueting and praying anyway? Banquet suggests, to me, something bountiful, overflowing with good food, fun to be at, a splendid occasion filled with the finest of things, happy conversation, laughter, speeches perhaps, fine wines, lavish surroundings, dinner jackets and evening gowns, an orchestra, candles, table linen, silver. Perhaps I’m betraying time in Cambridge at posh college annual dinners!

It is a captivating image Herbert offers, perhaps because it completely disarms some of the brooding worries we might have about praying. Here, prayer is no grudging or embarrassed word, no worried silence because we aren’t sure what to pray for or how to do it. Here, prayer is giving to us even as we pray, feeding and nourishing us, leading us into rejoicing, deeply shared delight. 

Perhaps, the next time I come to pray, I might simply let myself begin by being still and
thinking: “BANQUET!”

I write this as we enter once more into Christmas and all it means for us. Feasting might even be on the agenda! But, like you I think, I’m terribly aware that the world feels a harder, harsher, more difficult place than it was even a year ago. The trajectory feels difficult
with profound challenges on the national and international stages. Anger bubbles away. What might we do in such times in the spirit of Christmas?

One suggestion I make is that we pray. Let us draw up our chairs to Herbert’s banquet table and find upon it the feast that prayer can be. I know, of course, that suggesting we pray is nothing new. Many of you can outdo my prayer life any day of the week. This I know. But as I
have wondered and worried about the news, a gleam of light for me has been prayer. At this banquet, it is not only that I speak to God of the layer upon layer of need and concern that is within me. It can also be that I get fed by the loving attention of the one to whom all prayer is addressed. I find myself remembering that God let prayer’s banquet become also a baby in Bethlehem born to live into the troubling realities of it all and not to give up on faith and hope and love.

 

Perhaps you might like to join me in something I hope to do? I’m setting a reminder to ring every day on my phone at noon. I hope that I might stop whatever I’m doing and pause long enough to pray two prayers. I intend to begin with the Lord’s Prayer, because that says so much. And then I thought I would make use of these words too:

 

Jesus, born in Bethlehem,
bless our broken world.
Help us build peace in every place,
hope in every heart,
love in every street,
healing in every ill.
Guide the powerful,
give voice to the silenced,
undo prejudice and pride.
Jesus, born in Bethlehem,
let your Spirit show us how.

Amen.

​

In all you do, in all that you share in at Christmas and as you enter the new year, may the blessing, peace and joy of the heart of
Christmas enfold and uphold you. And may your prayers, always, be a banquet.

​

Neil