A Letter from the Minister

Before coming to this beautiful part of Gloucestershire, I spent two years studying at the Queens Foundation College in Birmingham.  My weekly commute began with catching the early Monday morning train from Cwmbran to the University Birmingham station and returning on a Thursday evening.  During this time, I heard a lot of announcements: what to do if you find something suspicious; trains being on time, or late, or cancelled; reminders as to which way the platforms sloped; to “mind the gap” and to remember your own luggage.

This travel, however, did afford me time to write essays and sermons, to sleep, and more often than not, to stare out of the window, to pause and think.

Now, as the good weather is upon us, with school exams over and sports days beckoning, Summer is upon us.  Hopefully it will give us a time to pause and catch our breath.

Recently, I have come across a meditation by Lisa Debney that harkens back to the train journeys, but also something for us to consider as we pause and enjoy the Summer.

The God of Lost Property

‘Please remember to take with you all your items of luggage and all personal belongings – all newspapers, umbrellas, bad habits, guilty secrets, feelings of worthlessness, frustration, fears and resentments….”

“We do hope that you have enjoyed travelling with us and that you continue to have a pleasant journey.”

Dutifully, I gather together my baggage.  I have lost nothing, I have left nothing, I am doing well.  I have no hands free to open doors, greet, hug, embrace or wave, but I carry on, proud of my ability to maintain so much stuff without losing it.

And out into the roar of the crowd I walk, my sole objective to get from A to B without dropping anything.  In my blinkered determination I am painfully aware that I can’t hold on to all these wretched things for much longer.

In head-down hurry I rush on, unseeing until the moment of our inevitable collision.  Like hitting a rock or wall.  Shock waves send my luggage flying – bags bursting open as they hit the floor, scattering the contents of my life across the pavement.

I look up in a fury of embarrassment, confronting you face-to-face.                                     

I am met by your gaze of infinite calm and patience.  I want to kick your shins.

“You look as if you have your hands full,” you say,

“It is my property,” I say, “you made me drop it.”

“I know”, you say, “It looks heavy.  Why not leave it here?”

“But I need it,” I say.

“Do you?” you ask, “Really?”

I want to gather it all to my chest.  I feel naked – vulnerable standing there without it.  I am not quite myself.  I go to pick it up again.  But I cannot, I am too tired.

“Will you look after it?” I ask.

“I will take care of it” you answer.  “Go on – I dare you.  Leave it here with me.  I promise it will be in good hands.”

I hesitate.  I move forwards, light-headed but also suddenly light-hearted.   I walk onwards. I swing my arms, I stride.  It is so easy, so free and easy.  I glance back and all is gone.  I look forwards and all is before me.

My property is lost and I am found

(taken from “Bare Feet and Buttercups”, Wildgoose Publications)