Dear friends,

Over the past few weeks, we have explored what living hope looks like in the First Letter of Peter. We considered hope amid suffering as being accompanied by her two daughters, Anger and Courage. Last Sunday, we suggested that Endurance could be seen as the third daughter of hope.

This week I received an encouraging text from someone who attended our Green Service on the 19th of April. That service was also centred around hope. The organisers had the wonderful idea of printing the liturgy sheets for that service on seeded paper. That is, paper laced with seeds so that, once you had finished using it, you could simply plant it in the ground and, as the paper decomposes, wildflowers begin to grow. It is a lovely idea, but what we did not realise is that it is apparently quite difficult to print on this sort of paper. The print shop’s printers kept jamming, and eventually they only managed to print 40 sheets. I was quite stressed about it all. 

So, this week I received a text: someone, quite unfamiliar with church, planted their liturgy sheet and little green sprouts started to appear. Isn’t that wonderful? Those words and hymns did not remain locked up in the church after the service had ended. They continued to grow, not only physically, but also in the hearts and minds of those…

Dear friends,

How do Christians relate to the broader culture around us? How are we to act, think, speak, shop, rest and so forth as Christian people situated in a predominantly non-religious environment? In our news and politics, not least in the shockingly disconcerting image of Donald Trump portraying himself as Jesus Christ, it often seems as though those in power want to get Christ on their side. Christ becomes a by-product of culture….

Dear friends,

We are exploring the letter of 1 Peter over the course of around five weeks. Peter’s central claim is that, because Christ was resurrected, there is reason for living hope. In last week’s service, we set the boundaries for our conversation on hope, considering what its opposites are, and what it means to live without hope. We said that the opposite of hope is despair (there is no future outlook; we’ve hit rock bottom), boredom (nothing can change; we are stuck in neutral; nothing can surprise us), and optimism (everything will change and we will live happily ever after). In contrast, the living hope to which Peter…

Dear friends,

I read a prayer this morning in which the author, after a long and traumatic season of illness, writes: “…Recently I heard that first whirring, as of small wings alighting in a tangle of twigs, and I recognise its name: Hope.  

Such a dear friend, parted for so long.”

The author continues to praise God for hope’s first return. Like the blossoms in springtime, almost too small to see, but growing, full of life, waiting to burst forth.

“Hope’s first return” seems like a good…

Dear Friends,

We have reached the end of our Lenten season. We stand with Jesus at the gate of Jerusalem. Now, all that remains is entering. We know where this road leads. Sure, it will feel joyful at first. We will wave our branches and shout, “hosanna!”, but deep down we might wonder if it is all truly worth it.

Like Sunday’s reading from Matthew’s gospel tells us, when Jesus entered Jerusalem, “the whole city was in turmoil.” We might feel the same way about our cities and towns, and like them, we might rightly ask, “who is this?” Who is the man coming on the donkey? Who is this strange man, with these strange followers, who proclaim salvation (!) when all we experience is turmoil?

Dear Friends,

This coming Sunday, we will be reading the story of Lazarus (John 11). I have always found this story perplexing. We often accept other stories and their metaphors in the Bible without question, but this one is not so straightforward. Why did Jesus resurrect this particular person, and what are we meant to learn from it? It is a miracle, certainly, but of what kind? What sort of resurrected life was granted to Lazarus, his sisters, and their community?

What I appreciate, though, is that it takes the full weight of human emotions…..

Dear friends, 

We are nearing the end of our Lent journey. 

This Sunday we will read the text of Jesus restoring the sight of the blind man in John’s gospel. This text asks some serious questions about how we think of Jesus’ ministry, healing, a theology of disability, and, most importantly, how we think about our own ‘sight’ and ‘seeing’. 

The irony of this story, of course, is that it’s the blind man who really sees. Whereas the pharisees, disciples, and the man’s parents are all unable to perceive what is happening right in front of their eyes. It is almost as if their set ways of ‘seeing’, certainty, and knowing blinds…

Dear Friends,

This week, we are meeting in Geneva for our International Presbytery gathering. It is wonderful to see all the familiar faces of our friends from our “neighbouring” churches. As it is my first time in Geneva, I have committed myself to a reformed pilgrimage. Like all pilgrims’ experiences, it has been a true joy to witness the voices of Calvin and Knox coming alive. As is often said, perhaps jokingly, Geneva…

This week, I came across this graffiti: “NL has remote control over humans”. 

Really? Am I being controlled? From a dark room somewhere? By whom? Rob Jetten? The church? The capitalists around a boardroom table or the CEOs of the big AI companies? To be sure, I stepped left and right a few times, assuring myself of my own free will. 

But, seriously, beyond the conspiracy lunacy, the notion of “control” is important theologically—especially during Lent. Fr. Thomas Keating prays his famous welcoming prayer, specifically renouncing control, “Lord, I let go of my desire for power and control”. In his view, the desire for power and control, not unlike the kind that Jesus had to face in the desert, is part of the human condition. It is neither good nor bad. It just is. The problem, however, is that sometimes these desires far exceed their intended purpose. They could “drive us blindly”, and we “…wilfully demand that they supply us with more satisfactions or pleasures than are possible or due us”. Thus, he explains, these desires (control together with the need for security and esteem) can become our “programs for happiness, which can’t possibly work”. It is not so much that some force outside ourselves is controlling us, then, but our desires to be something we’re not. This does not say, though, that we have no control over our lives. In fact, another self-made graffiti artist replied to the one above, saying “your soul, your control”. No doubt, there is …

Dear Friends,

Writing about the Psalms, theologian-priest Emmanuel Katongole notes how a covenant relationship with God enabled biblical Israel to cry out to God: “How long, O God, will you hide your face?” Because of their intimate relationship with God through the covenant, they believed that God could, should, and would do something to save them. This is why, in the Psalms, we get some of the most honest reflections on human suffering. They could complain, mourn, weep, chant dirges, and curse, trusting that these actions are in fact a form of prayer. They did not always stand with their arms stretched out to heaven in praise and thanksgiving. Katongole says: “They praised God, but they also assailed the ears of God, protesting God’s continued silence and pressing God for deliverance”. 

As I was walking the dogs on Museumplein this week…