January 6th. Epiphany      

Genesis 2:7: The Lord God formed humanity from the dust of the ground and breathed into our nostrils the breath of life and we became living beings. John 20: 22: And then He breathed upon them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit."

In the early 1950s I met a woman whose days were spent in an iron lung. She was a victim of the worldwide epidemic of poliomyelitis; each breath was measured by the mechanical apparatus of that metallic, coffin-like casing. For her, voluntary inhalation and expiration were impossible, the muscles, which produced the involuntary intake and expulsion of air we all take for granted, were paralysed. Never again would she enjoy winter skiing on the Australian Alps, nor would she surf the Pacific waves. Never again would she watch her breath form droplets against a winter windowpane.

Breath is the dynamic of life. The exertion demanded by every action of our bodies, from walking or singing to chasing reluctant children or skydiving, requires breath. No matter how perfect our every organ and muscle, or whether we have a healthy circulatory system, without the ongoing cycle of breathing, we will die. For most people, the ability to breathe is taken for granted, but for those with bronchitis, asthma or emphysema, the struggle to inhale can be so tedious that it consumes all their energies. Premature babies with poorly developed lungs are often times aided in their breathing by various life-support systems.

Just as important to our lives is the breath of the Holy Spirit. To his friends Jesus promised that after his death they would be infused by the baptism of the Holy Spirit, and the Book of Acts relates the effect this empowering had on their lives. Likewise our own lives are transformed and we become truly alive as we accept this gift offered to all who follow Jesus. For the capacity to be fully alive each day, invigorated by the breath of our lungs and the breath of God's Spirit, today let us praise God.

Prayer: Loving God, you have breathed life into us, for our spiritual as well as our physical bodies. Teach us to use the vitality your breath affords in all we do today so that we live exuberantly. Amen.

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January 7th. Hands And Minds At Work      

Matthew 6: 28-29: Consider how the wildflowers grow. They neither work nor weave, but I tell you that Solomon in all his glory was never arrayed like one of these!

Though most translations of this text use the word "spin", J.B. Phillips believes that weaving is the correct term. Whichever word we use, the context remains the same. Across the centuries women (and some men) have spun and weaved. They have taken flax and spun it into linen, or they have spun cotton or wool to be knitted or woven into garments and blankets. Spinning and weaving were done not only in the daytime but also in the evenings in the days before television and often before the lines of girders enabled homes to be illuminated with electricity. They formed part of the so-called cottage crafts that produced saleable items to supplement the family income. These were occupations that brought families together as they shared their evenings. Basket weaving, knotting small nets designed for casting from land, whittling, lace-making and embroidery were also skills highly valued.

Spinning is not an easy task, and much preparation needs to be done before one can sit with a spindle or wheel and produce thread. Wool needs to be combed to eliminate burrs and other foreign material, and then carded to produce staples that will form a continuous thread during the spinning process. Once spun, it is skeined, and then washed by hand to remove the dust and excess oils. Only then is it able to be dyed before being knitted or woven. But spinning is not limited to just these familiar fibres, and animal lovers world-wide often save the combings from the coat of their pets. These are either spun on one's fingers or a spindle, and can then be used to embroider pictures.

As we contemplate the wildflowers in our region, their growth in crevices between rocks or on high Alpine slopes, and the dainty and delicate plants that flourish but for a moment in the desert after rainfall, we cannot but wonder at the diversity Nature has produced. The term wildflower distinguishes plants that are propagated commercially, or by home gardeners, from plants which spring forth spontaneously at nature's invitation. They are not classified as wild because of the fierceness but, like the members of the animal species termed wild, they are not manipulated by, or answerable to, human demands. So they toss their heads gaily while gentle breezes bid them welcome as they burst from their buds into full beauty.

In this world that seeks a reason and explanation for every act or being, wildflowers are a law unto themselves. They appear as if from nowhere, bloom, fade, wither and die, accountable to no one and no thing. They may lay dormant for seasons until conditions arise that allow their seed to be released and subsequent plants to emerge. Whether seed need a bush fire to allow propagation, the winter snows to melt, or rain to penetrate into desert regions, the seed continue to wait, without diminishing any of their vitality. They have no need to bestir themselves into such activities as those with which humans occupy themselves. Nor do wildflowers expend time and energy in worry. They wait with patience until adverse conditions are passed, and they are able to emerge in beauty. In truth, a wildflower emulates the life of absolute trust in God, in which one is not preoccupied by whatever storms of life occur, and whatever adversities prevail, no matter how long this period endures.

Prayer: The wildflowers blooming in their profusion demonstrate the boundless provision you make available for us each day, loving God. Remind us that we too may have the confidence they display in all our circumstances. Amen.

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January 8. Hidden Within The Shadows      

Most of our attention in life is directed at those things we see clearly, things which are illuminated by daylight, highlighted by spotlights, or which have been explained so thoroughly to us that we are now familiar with them. It makes sense to concentrate on what is in front of our eyes, for after all that is our reality. But when we do focus on just what we can see, we limit ourselves to a one-dimensional picture, rather than the three-dimensional one that is available to us. To see more accurately, to experience life more fully, we need to discover the shadow side of life, the unnoticed mysteries.

For thousands of years humanity has enjoyed bread. Nowadays there are retail outlets devoted entirely to a seemingly inexhaustible variety of breads. Breads of all sizes and shapes, breads made from differing flour mixtures, breads which are sliced, those designed to be pulled apart, breads to eat with soups, and those which are a dessert in themselves. There are also those breads that lie flat within their wrappings, those that are designed like a pouch to take fillings, and those which are rolled up and eaten spread with fillings. What is it that makes flat breads different from those loaves we generally accept as bread? Simply put, flat breads are made without a rising agent such as yeast, and therefore the dough is not permeated with the air bubbles that lift our loaves from the bottom of the pan and allow them to stretch higher and wider. In the finished product it's not so much what's in the bread, but what's not there, for it is the holes, the parts where the dough has been pushed aside by the bubbling yeast, which change our breads from those baked in fashions which reflect earlier civilizations. The same case made be made for the doughnut, after all what would a donut be without a hole. Truly it is the absence, rather than the presence, of a component part which makes the doughnut different from other items in a cake shop or bakery.

Seen from a distance a landscape or a portrait often seems almost alive. One can almost reach out and grasp the vibrancy of the subject, for it almost breathes its existence. The colours may be subdued, or they may appear as if just plucked from the newest rainbow; details have been presented with impeccable accuracy; in fact one could almost move through the frame and become one with the subject. Yet if we move more closely to the painting we discover that the details have been given body by the careful application of shadows, painted in either black or in much darker hues of the same colour as is the body of the work. Sometimes the entire work owes its clarity to the absence of background, rather than to a careful detailing of each part of the natural picture. It is in the absence of anything that could cause a detraction that the central focus of the picture is emphasised. Whether by creating shadows or by eliminating the background, artists illuminate the colours they employ, effectively adding to the brilliance of these colours.

Life too can follow these subtleties, for it is often only when the tumult of daily life is absent that we experience the healing and nourishment that silence provides. Those "shadow" times of our days when there is not interaction with others, when they do not intrude into our lives, are perhaps the times we can best appreciate the effect friends and family have on our existence. The fabric of our lives is woven from memories, hopes, dreams and expectations in addition to work completed, goals achieved, and our private and personal relationships. Of these our relationship with God is often like the yeast, hidden and private, but the effect it has is to change our whole nature, so that we take on another dimension. Deeds of caring and sharing with others we do in private change not only the social and emotional aspects of our personality, but also are reflected in the gentleness of our appearance. Truly it is often the hidden ingredients that make the difference to our personalities.

Prayer: God of light and shadow, teach us to remember that we will never develop as whole people without the shadow side of life touching us, and so magnifying the brightness of our beings. Amen.

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January 9. Come, And Look At Me      

Have you noticed small children at play lately? Give one of them a bicycle and it's almost certain within minutes you'll hear the words, "Come and look at me." Place a child in a wading pool and the reaction is the same, you will be expected to watch and approve every manoeuvre they attempt. As young children grow to teens, perhaps the mode of riding that bicycle will be without hands or feet on handlebars or pedals - just a free-wheeling journey as impetus accelerates them to emulate the wind. And sure enough, there will be someone around, maybe not you but one of their peers, someone to whom they will direct the request, "Look at me."

In our educational system it appears that competition for high marks is valued more highly by parents, staff and pupils than learning to increase students' knowledge, widen horizons and stimulate thought processes. How many marks are awarded to the pupil who asks the greatest number of questions? How often are students' questions seen as an inconvenience in the daily teaching plan, or as a bid for attention? Small children are notorious for using the word "Why." It seems they are never satisfied with the answers we give, for their questions dog our footsteps with every explanation we offer. Where does questioning stop being regarded as a healthy part of growing, and become an annoyance? When did we decide competitive achievement in either the scholastic or sporting areas of schooldays was the ultimate prize?

On the podium they stand, the high achievers, their awards clasped in their hands. Speeches are made about them, everyone and everything shouts to those assembled, "Look at them! These are our success stories. They deserve to be applauded!" And amid those assembled there are the pupils who, by the very fact that they have never won, nor will ever win, such an award, are deemed unsuccessful, their efforts not worthy of applause. So many of our population suffer from a lack of self-esteem that has its roots in our childhood. Deep down inside many of them is a need to be noticed, to be appreciated and applauded. Yet these are the people who made up the bulk of our society, the unsung ones. From the core of their existence they cry out "Look At Me!" to all who pass our way, but most especially to those they would have appreciate and love them. As the years pass, some will find satisfaction and fulfilment in their work, some in their families, some in anonymous acts of altruism, while some will burst from the shadows of anonymity into the sunshine of worldly success.

What is success? Perhaps the most memorable person in the circus is not the beautiful lady on the horse, or the fantastic trapeze artists, but rather the white-faced clown. Down there in the centre ring is someone who has made an art of clumsiness, of being the butt of others' pranks, whose face is streaked with tears painted on for each performance from the make-up box. The clown, symbol of the bittersweet essence of our own lives, has become famous not only for the well-rehearsed routines, but also for the fact that most of us can identify with the failures and disappointments we see parodied. In the clown we see ourselves, centre stage, applauded and admired. Inwardly we acknowledge the acclaim we have achieved vicariously, without ever having to call out like a child, "Hey, look at me."

All of us long to be acknowledged by those we respect and love, we want them to notice and perhaps praise us even when our effort or output is simply ordinary. People jumping from bridges, committing crimes, stealing the savings of investors, all say, "Look at me." Somehow we have lost the memory that we are God's most precious creations, that when God looked back at the completed work of creation, we were found to be perfect. Perhaps the hubbub of the swiftly moving world, the tumult of our machine-driven age, or the explosion of information deemed necessary for each of us to ingest, has prevented us from hearing that small voice inside us. Across our society, from the most privileged to those who have been deprived or abused as children, we lack self-assurance. We lack the ability to value that the seemingly most insignificant of jobs, done well, is able to take its place alongside those jobs that attract media attention and popular recognition. Each of these jobs benefits the society in which we live. Society, it would seem, needs to re-write values. We need to value the members of our families, the teaching we receive during the years our education spans, and we need to take time to listen to our spirits. For as we sit quietly and listen, we will discover we have tapped into the pulse of God, and at this moment we will remember that the eyes of Creator of the universe have never missed any of our actions or our thoughts. God has, since our birth, been with us, looking at and loving us.

Prayer: Eternal God, we need to be assured that we are noticed and are loved, even when family and friends surround us. Teach us how to drink deeply of the peace and love you offer freely, so that we may live fully without wasting our energy on a yearning for what we already possess. Amen.

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January 10. You Served Me      

Walking along the aisles of a supermarket, searching for items which seemed to have been misplaced from their usual positions on the shelves while still managing to hold an errant trolley whose mind was set upon crashing into the trolleys guided by more sedate shoppers, I came across her. We hadn't met for some while, years in fact, yet she appeared unchanged by time, quiet, tidy and organised. We exchanged greetings before moving on to complete our purchases, and as I queued in the checkout line I noticed she had just completed paying for her purchases.

Finally released from the aisles of the supermarket into the comparative freedom of the shopping mall we met again and she suggested coffee. As we sat we talked of the little things in life, the small changes to our circumstances, and shared news of other acquaintances, just general chitchat. No harm in that. Yet she persisted asking how things really were in my life, and before I knew it my lips were forming words that spoke of the pain and loneliness that dominated my life, and of the bitterness that had developed over petty jealousies. She listened patiently until my tale of brokenness was completed, and then gently worked with me until we could find some ways to change these outcomes.

Finally the sands of time ran out, and we both needed to move to our next destinations. As she left I looked after her, wondering what it was in her that had caused me to venture far deeper than the expected social responses to her questions. Finally I hit upon it. She had served me as would a priest! She had looked deeply into my being and had recognised that all was not right, in spite of my protestations. Nothing in her manner had caused me alarm or fear, instead her attitude had been that of genuine concern. She had not prodded nor pried, yet she, more than any other, had cut far more deeply into my emotions as she uncovered areas that had festered and poisoned my personality. Like a surgeon she had exposed those cancers of my soul that needed excision, and in so doing she had initiated the healing process.

That's what true friendship is about, sharing deep concern and love for one another. Taking the role of a priest at the confessional and listening, really listening and not just hearing, all the thoughts that tumble from a soul in conflict and confusion. But the work of a priest continues past confession, for a priest brings those who are troubled before God, and in God's presence absolves them from the wrong actions or thoughts they have initiated. A priest serves in binding up the wounds, physical, emotional and spiritual, of those who are distressed, and offers consolation and hope. There, over a cup of coffee a friend had done all those things. And as I watched her move through the exit I wanted to run after her and shout it out, "You served me!"

Prayer: Never before, God, have I realised that you would have each of us take the responsibilities of a priest and serve in our interaction with one another. Why has it taken me so long to discover that I have never sought the deep answers to the social enquiries that issue by sheer force of habit from my lips? Show me today, loving God, how I may serve the needs of all I meet by listening to what is really happening in their lives, and working with them to seek solutions when necessary. Amen.

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January 11. The Petals Are Falling      

The days of summer have finished, the searing heat, which dried up all surface moisture, has abated and the earth heaves a sigh of relief. It is the beginning of the in-between season, for the months of autumn have arrived. Gently the season of rest creeps upon us, rest for the earth and a time for fallow ground to replace those areas designated for production. Gone are the impulsive days of spring when the earth, feeling the warmth of the sun, yawns and stretches, and everywhere nature seems intent on reproduction. Birds swoop low gathering twigs, wisps of spider web, and all manner of objects from which to build a nest for their young. Trees gently donning their mantle of leaves and flowers raise their branches towards the sunlight, as if wanting to bathe in her beams. Spring bulbs push their paths through the earth, bursting forth from dormant tubers, bringing nature's recognition of the departure of winter. Across the pastures baby lambs, calves and foals make their entrance into this world.

Summer brought in its wake a time for crops to be planted, mature and be reaped. It was also time for young animals to grow fat from the summer pastures. These are the halcyon days of the earth, when available rainfall encourages fresh growth and prosperity abounds. The horn of plenty is in evidence. Flowers paint the landscapes with their brilliant colours, trees are fully clothed in leaves and often blossom, while birds abound swooping from the sky to feed fledglings nosily waiting in a myriad of nests. Crops grow, ripen, and so begins the harvest.

With the commencement of Autumn comes the time to reap and gather those grasses planted for winter fodder, and to move among the acres of land devoted to pumpkins and collect these so they can be stored for sale and use during the balance of the year. It is time to prune back summer fruit bearing trees and vines that might have been overlooked, and to tend to lanky growth in rose beds. And throughout gardens spring and summer flowering plants and bulbs are no longer putting forth new blooms, in fact petals are falling from the once full-blown blossoms. It is not that nature intends to deprive us of myriads of blooms, but rather that their time of flowering is passed, and it is time for them to devote their energy to producing seeds or storing nourishment in their tubers in preparation for a season yet to come when they will experience new life.

We are much like the flowers and trees whose growth is monitored by the seasons. We are born, without any intent of our own about this process, just as a seed becomes a living plant. We grow, influenced by the sunshine and rain that comes into our lives; we too are tossed by fierce storms and bent by gale-force winds. We find nourishment for our bodies also from the soil, as in our meals we enjoy plants that have been nurtured by the energies of the earth. We pass through the springtime of childhood, then the summer when as active, vital people we influence everyone and everything we touch. Then in the wisdom of the Creator we find our seasons have changed again, and we encounter autumn, and we too slow our pace and prepare to invest our energy in completing tasks still awaiting our attention, and joys now able to be seized, and we begin preparation for a new life, a new season.

As plants and trees mark the passing of time in the external layers of their stems and branches, so we too show evidence of the passing of life's seasons in our lives. Our hair changes colour, and sometimes thins, our skin texture changes as age makes its mark, our eyes tire, perhaps change focal lengths, and we need glasses, and we move more slowly and gently on this earth. The petals of our blossoming may be falling, but their fragrance remains as sweet and seductive as ever. We too are preparing for our new and next season of growth, in a spiritual rather than a physical body.

Prayer: Gentle God, you have planted us in this garden called the earth, and you have cared for us through the passing seasons. Teach us to recognise the beauty in those whose lives have encompassed more seasons than have our own. Remind us that one day we too will be required to take our place in heaven's gardens to bloom for eternity. Amen.

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January 12. First Sunday After Epiphany - Christ's Baptism      

John 1: 29-31: John saw Jesus coming towards him and said, "Look, there is the Lamb of God who will take away the sin of the world! This is the Man I meant when I said, 'A Man comes after me who is always in front of me, for He existed before I was born!'"

Children have always valued playing in dirt or mud, a process that leaves them muddy and grimy. Similarly, after completing chores like an oil change in a car, gardening or painting we end up in need of a good deep bath or a hot shower. But there's also another type of grime we carry round with us, a stain caused by self-indulgence or lack of self-control. No amount of scrubbing will cause it to fade.

John, down by the muddy Jordan, was baptising all who were ashamed that they had put their own self-interest first and had failed to love and serve God faithfully. Ordinary men and women realised how far short they had fallen from the obedience expected in the covenant relationship they enjoyed with God. In the waters of the Jordan John demonstrated God's forgiveness as he washed away the people's misdeeds and impiety. To this rural scene Jesus came asking to be baptised also. It was not that he had failed in either his relationship with God, or to members of his family and friends, but simply that he wished to identify himself with all those who were genuinely sorry and had changed their ways.

John's baptism provided a second chance for all who were baptised. They could go on with their lives without being concerned about their previous actions and thoughts, for these had been washed away in the act of baptism. Each new day they awoke they were conscious that they were free, freed of the chains of the past, free to write a brighter chapter in life's book. Perhaps there had been no change in the events which they encountered daily, but that mattered little for it was they themselves who had changed. So it was also in Jesus' life, for after his baptism he went off to the desert for forty days to be alone with God.

This story offers exciting prospects for our lives as it presents us with an opportunity to break with the past and move into the future, secure in the knowledge that we are forgiven and loved by God. It seems too simple to be true. Yet, since that day by the Jordan, every person who is genuinely sorry for past selfishness and acts of self-will is invited to accept a second chance, an opportunity to have all the residue of this world's grime rinsed from their lives. No detergent or washing machine, nor any electronic or human device will ever produce perfect cleanliness. John recognised in Jesus the person who would set us free, and wash away every misdeed and every selfish thought.

Prayer: Forgiving and loving God, today we come to give you our thanks that we have been freed from all the vices we had acquired. We offer you our praise that we are no longer crippled by the memories of our past. We have walked through the waters with Jesus, and our sins are washed away. Amen.

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January 13. Joining The Dots To Form A Picture - The Choices In Our Lives      

Deuteronomy 30: 19: This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live. Philippians 1: 22b-23a: I should find it very hard to make a choice. I am torn in two directions.

Remember those marvellous days of childhood when we were given a book, or even a sheet of paper, and were allowed to join up the dots so that we could discover the picture hidden on the page? Sometimes the dots were numbered, though these pages were reserved for much older children than we were when we first encountered them. The numbers seemed to be scattered all over the page, without apparent rhyme or reason, that is until one had diligently joined the consecutively numbered dots and was able to start guessing as to the subject of the emerging picture. Of course if you made a mistake you could attempt to erase the lines drawn incorrectly, and resume from the numbered dot you had last joined accurately. But if you didn't have an eraser, then you could very easily end up with a tangled mess of lines going in all directions across the page.

Life follows the same principle as these "hidden pictures", for we are never sure what may be uncovered as we connect the various opportunities and challenges in our lives. From the moment we wake we are presented with choices, will we rise immediately or will we wait just a little longer? Perhaps the alarm has not yet sounded its reveille, and we are unwilling to rise until its shrillness plucks us from our daydreams. From the moment our feet hit the floor the choices crowd around us, tumbling one over another. Decisions regarding clothing, breakfast, lunches, transport, the list goes on throughout every day as we are compelled to formulate our choices one by one. Sometimes we remember longingly the days of our childhood when decisions were made for us and responsibility for choices made rested on another's shoulders. But how we chaffed against those choices that were made on our behalf! How we longed to be old enough to make our own choices, to stand tall, numbered against the decision makers!

Across the wide spectrum of relationships we constantly make choices. We begin by tentatively moving into an intimacy with another person, very much the way we tested the sea the first time each summer, with toes extending into the foam laden surf to determine the temperature of the water. We do test the temperature of our relationships from our very first friendships made almost in infancy through childhood and into our adult lives. We learn, sometimes from cruel experience, which of our acquaintances we are able to trust and which will be a "tattletale," and which of our "friends" will be available and anxious to help us in times of sadness and trouble. As the years progress some of our relationships remain constant, but in this mobile society often distance diminishes the intimacies we once shared with others, and we seek out new friends. We will be looking, perhaps unconsciously, for a person with whom we are able to share our lives - not just the broad strokes of our lives but also the daintier more delicate, more fragile parts of which we are comprised.

We are also faced with spiritual choices that may occur at varying times in our lives. Deep within us lies a hunger that cannot be satisfied by any possession or achievement this world can provide; no matter where we turn, we remain discontent. We attempt to fill our lives with things and people to assuage our spiritual thirst. We choose to drink from any source rather than accept the cup of everlasting life that God holds out to us. Yet this is the one choice that will affect our lives, not only here in this dimension, but also in the next. Each of us must choose life or death, blessings or a curse. Not our parents, our friends or our partners are able to choose for us. The spiritual decision we make for eternity is uniquely our own.

Prayer: Eternal God, across the centuries you speak to us and invite us to choose your life of love over lives of self-satisfaction. Strengthen our resolve today as we choose you. Amen.

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January 14. Hanging Out - Wanting      

Isaiah 49: 10: They will neither hunger nor thirst, nor will the desert heat or the sun beat upon them. Matthew 5: 6: Happy are those who hunger and thirst for goodness, for they will be fully satisfied!" Revelations 4: 16: They will never again know hunger or thirst.

The one substance we need to sustain life is fluid. Usually when we are thirsty it is a vision of cool water that dominates our thoughts. In some areas of the world during drought water is not available and so we see some of the peoples of Africa slaking their thirst with milk from their herds, and in extreme cases with blood. The juice available from the leaves of some cactus is used in some arid areas of the Americas, while in Australia the baobab tree contains a store of water in its bulbous trunk. Simply any fluid that reduces the dehydration of our bodies, and allows us to keep the lining of our mouths moist, will do. Excessive thirst will cause us to hallucinate, and eventually become irrational. Drinking vast quantities of water can sometimes assuage the need for food. However when this is not possible, as has been discovered by those in concentration camps, most of us carry enough stored fats in our bodies to sustain our lives for some weeks. Even grossly malnourished, we can live with minimal food intake.

But our hunger and thirst are not limited solely to food and drink. We also hunger for human relationships, from the most intimate to passing acquaintances. We were never designed to live as emotionally separate entities, without the interaction with one another. To grow into our full humanity we need to be part of the society in which we live. Yet even human relationships do not satisfy all our needs, and we find that from the beauties of nature we take nourishment, clarity and strength. We gaze at forest giants and know their life span to be many times that of our own. Waterfalls tumbling over cliff faces remind us of the effects water's unlimited power may achieve as it carves new valleys and caverns in its path. The sight of geese wending their way across thousands of miles on a migratory flight speaks to us of the instincts of homing that we share with these wild birds.

To all societies across the world there is a common thread of music, however performed on whatever instruments. It is as if our bodies sway to the sound of drums, violins or pipes; in fact it seems that for us to be able to express our spirits we need to connect intimately with music. Also common to cultures across the globe is a need to express thoughts, visions and histories on whatever medium is available, from canvas to rock walls, to designs drawn with coloured sands or even painting our own bodies. Sometimes the paintings represent the tribal history of a particular group, other times our "more civilized" cultures still employ artists to depict historical events for posterity. Children draw in the dust, on slates or in books, in fact children depict their thoughts, dreams and nightmares wherever they find a space to draw.

Former Beatle George Harrison released a three record set, All Things Must Pass, from which the song "My Sweet Lord" became number one across the world in the winter of 1970-71. In this record set he expresses aspects of his own search for spiritual reality, and this is reflected in songs such as "What Is Life", "The Art Of Dying", and "Hear Me Lord" as well as "My Sweet Lord." For George neither fame nor wealth could satisfy the deep yearning of his soul to know more of God, and these songs reflect his journey to an intimacy with God. This is a journey each of us must make if we are to satisfy our own soul's deepest yearning, for truly we were made to live in spiritual harmony and intimacy with our Creator. Nothing the world can offer can ever result in contentment for our souls. Like George we will be forever just "hanging out" and "wanting" until in our souls we reconnect with our source.

Prayer: God of music and art, of nature and of all substance, our souls have hungered and thirsted to commune with you. Enfold us in your love and draw us closer to yourself.

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January 15. Awakening To Ourselves      

1 Corinthians 13: 11: When I was a little child I talked and felt and thought like a little child. Now that I am an adult my childish speech and feeling and thought have no further significance to me.

One Foot in Eden by J. Phillip Newell: There was once a father who tried to wake his son for school. The son responded to the knocking on his door by saying "I am not going to get up, and I shall tell you three reasons why; the first is that I hate education, the second is because the children tease me, and the third is because education is boring." The father replied, "You are going to get up, and I shall tell you three reasons why: the first is that it is your duty to get up, the second is because you are forty-five years old, and the third is because you are the headmaster."

Events in our childhood produce distinctive moral values, certain ways of responding to a variety of situations, and either a sense of being loved or being abandoned. We are moulded or shaped by events and people over whom we have no control. Yet it is these events and these people that will leave their footprints on the physical, emotional and spiritual pathways of our lives. Children who have been deprived of the interaction unselfish love provides will not have learned the appropriate skills to respond to affection in their later years, and will remain hungry for love or even resentful of their parents well into adulthood.

Society demands that as we mature and develop through adolescence to adulthood we deal with those events that have crippled our lives, and find solutions - including healing - to past traumas. We simply cannot continue to blame our attitudes and prejudices on past experiences. We are forced to accept responsibility for all the actions and words of our adult life. While it is still as much fun to fly kites over the weekend as it was when we were very young, kite flying is no longer the only occupation that provides pleasure, nor is it our ultimate goal in life. Kite flying has its uses in today's society, and may be found in modified forms such as weather balloons and in aeronautical experiments, and perhaps led to our first experiments in space travel. The principles of kite flying that involve catching and utilising moving air currents we also find demonstrated in meteorological maps showing weather patterns. However, we have moved beyond kite flying and many other past-times of childhood while retaining memories that were formed in our youth. Perhaps the next time we fly kites it will be in the company of our own children, or those of our friends.

Responsibility is the price we pay as we emerge from childhood and are accepted as adults. The law decides we must accept the consequences of our actions, rather than having our parents or guardians cover the expenses our often foolish actions incur. Society expects that we find employment that will not only sustain us but will also contribute to the fabric of our communities. In times of war we will be summoned to serve in our nation's defence forces, and we will be eligible to elect those persons we believe will govern our nations honestly and compassionately. We discover that we belong to a generation that, by its decisions, will write the history of our nation during our own lifetime, just as in former times when our nation moved in one specific direction, so committed were we to the dictates of our government.

Life choices were not usually made when we were children. We seem to delay our decision making until we are older. Yet when the big question arises that needs to be addressed in our lives, the one that determines our spiritual connectedness here and into eternity, we dither and offer excuses more suited to childhood. We refuse to admit our spiritual longings, and run from any speaking the message of Love, as though we are frightened to allow God to share our lives. It's strange to think we provide financially, but not spiritually, for our later years.

Prayer: God of love, remind us that there will be ample time to play when our day's work is complete. Inspire us today to place our unconditional trust in your love and provision. Amen

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January 16. The Other Side Of The Door      

Revelation 3:20: See, I stand knocking at the door. If any listen to my voice and open the door to me, I will go into that house and dine with them, and they with me.

Behind the door hangs a dartboard, and on a nail beside it is a bag containing several darts. It's not until the door is closed that anyone can see this dartboard, and until the door is firmly closed no game can commence. That side of the door marks the beginning of personal space, the space that houses a collection of various possessions and furniture. That side of the door is private, a place where the world doesn't intrude, a space where dreams may be dreamed and plans may be hatched or where peace enfolds like a soft blanket.

Opening the door one can venture out into the world, encountering at times sunlight dancing from dew-encrusted blades of grass, or at other times leaden skies divesting themselves of their moisture thus forming a curtain of rain. The world outside the door encompasses sounds and colours. Sometimes the colours are contained in displays of nature's gifts, other times they are provided by building structures tinted by their designers using a variety of materials and paints. Sometimes gardens add a kaleidoscope of colour, while at other times the multiplicity of shades of green displayed by rainforest and shelter trees provide more tints than can be contained on an artist's palette. Sounds move through the air with the passage of planes overhead, the voices of people in discussion and children at play, while traffic noises produce a background murmur both day and night.

Outside the door dwells the world and in fact the universe. Inside the room a cat purrs gently as it lays curled up on the bed. Outside the door lurk fierce creatures that threaten our liberty and peace, for outside the door is the domain of transport, work, crowded streets, together with the clamour and grime of the cities. Outside the door people vie for our attention, inside the door is a place for meditation. Outside the door is a competitive world, with business and sport saluting winners. As complex people we need to live in the worlds contained on both sides of the door. For some of us it is the world outside the door that holds all we would pursue, for others the world inside the door represents our most cherished hopes and dreams. One side of the door presents the face of respectability to a world that designates approval to the ordinary, the least challenging aspects of life. The other side of the door is painted to create a sensation of space within a warmly secure environment.

Our lives often reflect the worlds this double-sided door represents. We share part of our lives with many people while holding them at a distance from our inner space. We are fully aware, during those times we are outside the door, of the world, its politics, its colours, noise and demands. We do catch a glimpse of rainbows arcing across the sky after storms, and find ourselves floundering when dense fogs obscure our vision. As we look around we discover the vibrancy of colour and sound that surrounds us. Yet still we yearn to step back inside the door, to resume our place where our truest self lies. It is here we discard the disguises we have worn all day, drop the masks that have hidden our thoughts and allow ourselves to be totally vulnerable. It is here we are utterly revealed. It is here that our most beloved friends are invited to share our completeness.

The outside of the door is devoid of a handle; in fact it is bare except for a keyhole, while on the inside is a locking device and a large door knob, as well as the dartboard. If anyone wishes to spend time with us without an invitation, they must knock at the door, hoping we will hear and admit them. This same rule applies to God who knocks at the door to our hearts. We decide if we will open the door and invite our Creator to dine with us.

Prayer: Amid the noise and bustle of our day, God, remind us to allocate fragments of time within our sacred space, so that you may heal, refresh and restore us. May we bring your peace and love back into the world as we return from time spent with you. Amen.

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January 17. Between The Table And The Sink      

Genesis 28: 16,18: When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, "Surely the Lord is in this place and I was not aware of it." Early the next morning Jacob took the stone he had placed under his head and set it up as a pillar and poured oil on top of it.

Martha knew it well, that place between the table and the sink. Too busy with meal preparation to sit with the other disciples gathered around Jesus and hear his words, she could only pick up a fragment here and there. Sometimes she resented the fact that, by supervision of the domestic chores, she missed so much of the discussions Jesus initiated, and the questions the others posed.

Jesus knew it well, the time he spent on Galilean hillsides teaching the crowds that gathered, healing the sick they brought to him, and teaching them lessons that demonstrated the provision God had made for each of them, and the provision they should make for one another. He missed the freedom to spend time alone with God whenever he chose, so crowded was his life with those who demanded his attention.

David, chosen while still a shepherd tending his father's flocks to become the future king of Israel, also knew well the distance between the things he really desired and the reality of his situation. Instead of ruling his nation from the palace, instead of being present with the priests on holy days when sacrifice was required, he spent months running from the mercenaries hired by his son. Hiding in caves was hardly his idea of serving God as protector of God's chosen nation.

Paul and Silas, in prison, knew the injustice meted out to them, the pain of being beaten with rods and their loss of freedom, all directly caused by those who resented their healing of a young woman. Yet, even cut off from their community of faith, they continued in prayer and hymns of praise, rather than bemoaning their fate. When an earthquake freed them from their stocks and smashed the doors of their prison they remained there as witnesses of the Good News of salvation to their jailer.

Churches and cathedrals offer believers a place in which God may be worshipped. In older cathedrals you are enfolded in sanctity and becomes aware of being among the myriads of saints who have walked this earth in past generations. Worshipping in such places you are conscious of the power of the presence of God. Inside these buildings you are aware of the altar and the reverence surrounding it as humanity remembers the sacrifice made by God. Yet for the mother clasping closely a feverish child, as for the captain steering his vessel through mountainous seas while hearing the crash of waves on submerged rocks, and for farmers witnessing the slaughter of their herds as a result of the spread of a virus, there is no time to worship kneeling at an altar. Instead God moves and creates within those environments a place of worship, a sanctuary for prayer in the midst of critical circumstances. A place between the table and the sink can become a place for any who are home-makers to meet with God. In the midst of our days wherever we are, we can choose to stop and seize a moment of time and fashion it into our altar. God will be no less real there than in the loftiest of churches, nor will God's power and love be less evident. Jacob took the stone that he had used as a pillow, and setting it up for all to see, poured oil over its face thus consecrating it as an altar. Our kitchen, the dairy, the office or commuter train can become as sacred as did this stone when we choose to meet there with God. It is in every event of each day spent in communion with God that each situation and destination becomes hallowed ground for us, for those with whom we share this space and for all we include in our prayers.

Prayer: God of love, you enfold, strengthen and comfort us wherever we meet with you. Teach us daily to shape an altar from the events of our lives, knowing that each time we reach out to you, you are with us. Amen.

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January 18. At The Village Pump      

Ecclesiastes 3: 1: There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the sun.

Once agriculture, fishing and cottage crafts kept whole communities occupied, yet in their nights bloomed a grace of shared stories and music. Those were also the days when the curate or priest was part of each community, and could be found physically assisting at those times when the tasks were too demanding. In some respects it was a much different time from that which we know today. Those were also the days when families attended worship together, where babies who were baptised in a parish grew up and were married and had their own children baptised there. It was a time when the village church was within walking distance, and the people moved toward the altar at the same pace each week, for it was there they met with God.

Today those villages have changed. The gentle pace has been replaced by a world governed by time and motion stopwatches, while the priests and curates have moved into larger towns and are no longer working hand to hand with those they serve. Village churches have been sold and removed, and rarely do families assemble each week to celebrate worship. Cottage crafts have all but disappeared, and the pervading calm and gentleness of those villages seem to have disappeared. For everything there is a time, but was there ever such a time when we felt so isolated one from another?

Nowadays it seems that life for wage earners is divided between the factory floor - or the office - and home. Often it seems that for those who are homemakers, days are spent in meal preparation, laundry, and house cleaning. At the end of the day, those who work outside the home, and those who work within it, often flop exhausted in their chairs for a quick discussion of the day's events before slowly carrying those tired bodies to bed. Where has the day gone that started with so much promise?

And as those days form into weeks, and the weeks form into months and years, it appears that lives are governed totally by work's demands and a need to rest and so enable the burden of work to be endured again. The industrial revolution and the age of technology have not produced an era in which ordinary people are any more refreshed and rested than were their counterparts living in an agricultural society. In fact, so keen has the demand for higher profits been, that more and more people find themselves redundant to the work force. They are deemed unnecessary to the demands of productivity, and rejected by employers, while those who have not known this humiliating situation despise them.

What would happen if we were to turn back the clock, and welcome all who have lost their jobs as potential miracle workers? What would happen if, as a community, we seized time and took it with us to the riverbank and there we introduced time to the pastime of skipping stones across the face of the water? It is time to revive the old customs; those that enabled our forebears to gather at the village pump and share the events of each day. It is time to slow the pace of our days and take stock of what is really important. Those who are unemployed could be invited to teach their skills to school age youngsters, assist with creating community gardens from which they could create an income, or share with us better ways to make use of our leisure. Perhaps it is the problems created by "leaner" and "meaner"companies that will achieve this miracle. And it may be that one day, we will learn to relax and be still so that we may again experience the presence of God filling our minds, and strengthening our bodies. The time and season we set by our own choices. Shall we continue a frenzied lifestyle, or move forward into an era in which our minds, bodies, spirits and emotions dwell in harmony?

Prayer: God of Grace, remind us that the sands in any hourglass will run no more swiftly whether we run or stroll through life. Teach us to reach out and seize the opportunities to slow our pace so we can enjoy all you have created for our enjoyment. Amen.

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January 19. Second Sunday After Epiphany - The Faith Of A Crocus      

Luke 17: 5-6: And the Apostles said to the Lord, "Give us more faith." And he replied: "If your faith was as big as a grain of mustard seed, you could say to this fig tree, 'Pull yourself up by the roots and plant yourself in the sea,' and it would do what you said!"

1Corinthians 13: 13: In this life we have three great lasting qualities - faith, hope and love. But the greatest of them is love.

Have you ever watched the progress of a crocus? For such a beautiful and delicate flower it has tremendous resolve. It matters not that there may still be ice upon the ground, the crocus will push its way through to greet the awakening sunlight. Most plants awaken in their beds and stretch toward the sun in spring or summer, but not the crocus. It never waits till there are no further risks of a cold snap, instead it insists on pushing its lovely head up through the soil as if to announce the advent of Spring. The crocus has faith that, regardless of what the earth is experiencing, Spring is approaching.

Sometimes we wait, hesitantly, until some other person takes the first step forward when there is work to be done and volunteers are needed. We're not quite sure of how things will eventuate; we have no confidence in either the outcome or ourselves. Perhaps we believe we're a little more like seeds that have to be nurtured in special hot-frames before we can be planted out into God's garden. Then, when all around us is prospering, we may gather the courage to join the display.

We hear of injustices around the world, of wars, homelessness and starvation, but we're unsure of being able to afford what we need should we donate some of our financial resources. And when folk are needed to give of their time in supporting those who are isolated or lonely, we remain silent when the appeal for names is made. It's not that we are selfish or uncaring; it's just that we lack faith in ourselves. We're not sure our efforts, our resources, can make a real difference.

When we read Jesus' words about faith as small as a mustard seed, we don't quite believe that this is meant to apply to ourselves. We know that some people we have trusted have let us down. Perhaps we're unsure that if we put our lives, our hopes and dreams, into the hands of God we will not be disappointed once again. Having faith is definitely a risk-taking experience. But just as turning the ignition key in a car involves the risks of the road, it also enables us to move from our familiar surroundings to places far more beautiful and awesome that we have ever dreamed.

Prayer. Master Gardener God, help me remember the lesson of the crocus. Teach me to have faith when the journey is long and difficult, and I would rather stay comfortably at home. May I trust you enough so that I can be one who steps to the front when volunteers are needed. Amen.

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January 20. The Way Of The Wind      

John 3: 8: The wind blows where it likes, you can hear the sound of it but you have no idea where it comes from and where it goes. Nor can you tell how any person is born by the wind of the Spirit.

Some mornings at daybreak there's a whisper of a breeze in the air. It touches your cheek as you stand watching the sun rise above the treetops and climb ever higher into the sky. As the dawn colours fade and daylight illuminates each blade of grass, and every dew-tipped flower, the wind lifts her skirts a little and sends clouds skipping across the sky.

Later in the day you can hear the sound of towels and sheets being buffeted and slapped by wind gusts as they hang on clotheslines. The wind has gathered strength and is determined to display her capacities to mere mortals. Tired petals fall from rose bushes as the wind moves through the gardens and trees. Leaves stir from their resting places under deciduous trees and leap to join the merry chase the breeze has initiated. Speeding cars dislodge particles of dirt from the roadside, and these add a dusty tinge to the air, thus increasing the confusion created by gusts of winds of almost gale force.

Small eddies appear in the dust and whirl like dervishes - mini tornadoes - as they lift leaves and spiral them higher until they are out of sight. Windows and roofs are buffeted and large trees creak their protest against this invisible force. Then just as suddenly it is gone, and the stillness created by the absence of wind is extraordinary.

After difficult situations, when we have been pulled and twisted this way and that, we often encounter that same sense of peace. It is almost as if a wild wind has swept through our lives and disturbed all that had settled as comfortably as leaf-litter. We discover some of the things and people we assumed were firmly attached to our lives have been torn away, and we have been pruned as thoroughly as a tree in a gale. Sometimes this process leaves gaping wounds that cause us pain but these wounds, when healed, promote stronger growth in our refined lives.

God's Spirit also moves through our lives, creating eddies as the dust from forgotten corners is swept up and into the sunlight. Exposed as never before, we discover attitudes and habits that have been crippling our growth. Like cruel barbs these need to be removed from our souls and their poison neutralised. God's hands gently untangle each thorn and burr that has found its way into our lives. And as a healing ointment the wind of the Spirit touches every wound or scar, making us whole again.

Prayer: Living God, today we bring our thanks for the wind - the wind that blows away the layers and veneers of our pretences and self-deceptions. Gently untangle us from all those habits and attitudes that constantly trip us as we walk life's pathway. Cleanse and heal us with your breath today. Amen.

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January 21. Textures And Tastes Of The World      

Colossians 1: 16: By him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible.

This dish must be a photographer's delight, for the colours and textures of various ingredients placed artistically in rice bowls, that have been flanked by chop sticks, invoke not only cries of delight but also set taste buds watering. This is a marvellous opportunity to share some of the traditional food and therefore lifestyles of families from Asia. Notice the slivers of bamboo shoots, the mushrooms, celery, shallots and carrot all sliced that wait near the mound of grated green ginger. To the side of the picture rest almonds, soy sauce and sherry, while piled in the centre are chicken breasts. Though no evidence appears in the picture, one can imagine that somewhere off to the side is piled fluffy white rice.

Another book, another recipe, and we discover a salad featured, combining lettuce, Greek olives, sliced red onions, feta cheese, bite-size tomatoes, anchovies and a selection of sprouted seeds. To the right we find side plates containing dolmas, and crusty bread rolls.

Flip a few more pages and here is something we have known since childhood, a roast of lamb, glazed in its cooking, with its gravy boat and minted sauce. Predictably the vegetables on accompanying dishes include roast potatoes and pumpkin, sweet potato, onion and parsnip, while peas nestle greenly in a place of their own. How many generations have known this menu as Sunday lunch, during the adolescent years of this nation?

Idly scanning the pages we pass by pages devoted to soups, chowders, entrées and finally rest among a wealth of desserts, from home made ice creams to pies and pastries, cheese cakes, steamed puddings, pavlovas and fresh fruit salads. All designed to "round off a meal" and all succeeding in rounding off one's girth.

Look into the shopping packages the next time you return home from a supermarket. Perhaps you will discover dates from Turkey, lavash or pita bread that we have adopted from our Middle East migrant population. Maybe there'll be some prawn crackers, or from India some cashew nuts, lychees or bok choy from China, or even rambutans from Indonesia. We have adopted many fruits and vegetables from countries of which we know but little, and to migrants from those regions we owe the wonderful variety of food we enjoy. The differences in our lifestyles and cultures are reflected in the diversity of colour, taste and texture of our meals and music. Through the food we share we move more closely to other nations and other cultures. Foods and tastes which were foreign to us, which in themselves became part of the barrier of differences that divided our cultures, are now welcomed as part of the diversity of our own eating customs.

Across the world we are becoming aware, in such subtle ways, that we really do belong to the same family, all God's creation. Our countries, developed by generations of workers, will always be uniquely our own, but our habits and culture may change and flourish as we continue to develop, becoming more aware of each other as part of the complete family of God. The differences are diminishing among people and nations across the world as we are more confident and more prepared to open ourselves to new experiences and cultures.

Prayer: Teach us, loving God, to appreciate the variety of lifestyles that your people from across this globe bring with them as much as we have learned to appreciate their unique dishes. As we move outside our own community to embrace members of other communities, let us seek for all the gifts we have to share with each other. Amen.

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January 22. The Gift Of Love      

John 3: 16: For God so loved the world that God gave Jesus…

There it waits, wrapped in tissue paper, on a bookshelf. It was bought with such love and excitement, to be part of a birthday gift. It would have matched the rest of the set, perhaps that was partly the reason for the care with which it was wrapped and then placed where it would neither be chipped or forgotten. Time has moved by on leaden feet; the tissue paper still represents all those happy expectancies with which gifts are bought, but the gift has never been moved from the shelf. Instead, the rest of the set now waits, neatly packaged, as if for another special person to appear, a person who will love and cherish every piece bought with such care.

For a bride there waited, lovingly placed in a box, eighty tiny crocheted baskets worked as gift of love, a special surprise. Time passed, one woman died but the gift remained intact. And so, as the wedding day dawned, onto the tables before each guest was placed a tiny basket containing a sweet. Love burst through the separation time and death creates, and loss was transformed by the radiance of generosity.

On a windowsill rests a nativity scene. Made of plastic it contains miniature figures of those associated with the birth of Jesus. It's small, fragile and not really well cast, but it occupies a special place where it can be seen each and every day. A young child who wished to share some of the magic and love Christmas brings bought it with a few cents pocket money for a special relative, and so it has assumed very special qualities.

In a drawer lies a miniature mouse fashioned from specially treated clay made by hands anxious to please, but often clumsy in their application. However, this mouse is definitely recognisable, and sits alongside a miniscule cup and saucer made about the same time. In a folder tucked away from dust, are numerous finger paintings, all trophies brought home with pride by children not much more than toddlers, and presented with equal care and solemnity. A chipped vase, a recipe book containing a variety of dishes all pasted in place with such care, one pressed flower tucked away in a book, and a tiny heart, all stowed away with care, given not from a desire to be noticed but from hearts bursting with unashamed love.

Among our possessions we have little we can acknowledge as given by a totally unselfish, loving heart. It seems often that it is only in children we discover generosity that asks nothing in return. To them giving seems a natural part of showing love and care. They ask only the right to give of themselves and their possessions to whomever they choose. In the adult world gifts are dictated by the expectations of society, for Mother's or Father's Day, at Christmas, Easter or to mark events such as a baptism, wedding or anniversary. The spontaneity children display is absent, and gifts are sometimes made with the expectation that they will produce predetermined results or attitudes - like the gifts made to those on radio stations who are able to influence play time for newly released discs. A lot has been written about the corruption that unsolicited gifts invites, and perhaps it is community attitudes that cause us to deny recognition to those who provide services far beyond the narrow description of their jobs.

Perhaps, when stories are told about gifts that have been fashioned or chosen by those whose lives radiate the simplicity of love, we may pause to remember the gift of love offered to each of us by God. Perhaps our hearts will be stirred, and our tears will flow as we recall God's tremendous love that caused Jesus to leave paradise and dwell among us - that love given so freely that it cost the life of our beloved God; a love that inspires us to offer all of our own resources - time, energy, finance and expertise - to those who need love's healing touch.

Prayer: God of love, often we deny the gift of love you freely offered humanity, for we weigh our own giving carefully. Teach us to embrace the abandonment love invites. Amen.

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January 23. A Faded Photograph      

Psalm 110: 55: In the night I remember your name, O Lord, and I will keep your law.

Books are often left at the counter. People are aware that several times each year we hold a "bookfest" at which all donated books are sold and the profits used to assist homeless and abused people. So the cartons and bags of books continue to arrive in a steady stream throughout the year, rising to a flood once the date of our next sale is announced. Each of the books is sorted by content by special volunteers who know much more about bibliographies than most of us. Each is dusted, inscriptions noted, and a price is placed on each front cover.

Sometimes there is music, more often sheet music, but on occasions there are vinyl records, cassettes and even compact discs. Perhaps they come from deceased estates, or maybe someone is intent on spring-cleaning. Whatever the source, there is always a large number of interested people who pore over each and every item, sometimes with faces flushed with success as they locate another "treasure".

Today as I picked up from a pile of books left hurriedly on the counter one that described life in outback Australia in the pioneering days, a photograph fluttered gently to the floor. There was no name, just a date '91. As I reached down to retrieve the photograph I noted it was a study in sepia, a portrait no less, which showed signs of wear on the corners. Perhaps it had been taken from within those covers and examined minutely a thousand times. Had it been given by one sweetheart to another? Was it someone separated by distance or death from the one whose book now rested on the counter? Who was the person whose image now rested in my hand? When had the picture been taken, was it perhaps to mark an anniversary, a birthday or was it designed from the start to be a memento? There was simply no way to identify either the person in the photograph or the previous owner of the book. What should one do with such a photograph that obviously meant so much to its owner, yet whose identity was now obscure? Perhaps the local historical society may choose to file it among the archives. Maybe one day someone researching a family history will find it there and recognise the picture. Until then its identity remains a mystery, a face with no name and no history.

Our own identities are defined not only in own minds but also in the minds of those who know us, and we will be remembered just as long as there are people in whose memories we exist. As we look back across the years there are some people we remember vividly, because they had an enormous impact on our lives, whether good or bad. Some have loved us unconditionally and have taught us to love others generously. Some people have faded from our memories, but a mention of their name and we recall them immediately. Other people seem to have faded completely from our memories, and we are unable to identify them even when we hear their name or view their likeness. Within each of us is a wistfulness, a hope that when we have crossed death's threshold we will still be remembered.

Sometimes it is only in times of direst need we recall the love God has always shown us. We have wandered so far from our Creator, that although God keeps our image clearly in view, we have failed to respond. When night falls and the pressures of the day are diminished, we do not remember God. Unlike that snapshot which had been examined minutely so many times, our image of God has been allowed to fade from our memories. Other images take its place, images of people and things that satisfy for the moment, but in the final analysis crumple and, like autumn leaves, blow away. We need to reclaim the memory of all God has done for us, of the loving care we have known, and of the satisfaction our soul finds in God.

Prayer: We freely admit, loving God, we have not remembered all you have done for us. We have wandered far from the days when we knew and loved you well. Awaken our love for you today and each of our days. Amen.