The Second Sunday before Lent 15th February 2009

The theme of creation and creativity runs through all our readings this morning. Look at the psalm—an extract from 104—one of my favourites! - O Lord how manifold are your works! - when you send forth your spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth …
And then to Colossians: Christ, we hear, is the firstborn of all creation—in him all things in heaven and on earth were created.
These two readings take us from a contemplation of the beauty and wonder of the natural world—and Descartes said that ‘Wonder is the first of the passions’—to the realization that in Christ God makes all things new. The philosopher Teilhard de Chardin spoke of Christ as the vibrant presence in all creation: in him all things hold together. Christ present in every creative impulse that is made in nature; in humanity, in you and me.

I wonder when you feel most creative? Perhaps it’s when you sing … or cook … or sew … or write a letter, or a poem. It’s so important to do such things. Too much of our time is spent in front of that box of intriguing platitudes—the TV. It drains our creativity. We end up watching football, rather than playing it. Watching cooks throwing together ingredients instead of having friends around and providing a lovely meal for them. Sitting down in front of Larkrise to Candleford, prepackaged by the imagination of someone else, rather than reading it and letting our own imaginations do some work. The box of intriguing platitudes. Dulling the creative impulse in us. And because we are made in the image of a creative God, dulling God in us—individually, and as a culture.
If we take God seriously—this is one way in which we can commend God to others. By using God’s gift of creativity in us in lively and vibrant ways—living life to the full and rejoicing in the creation of beauty. Giving profound thanks for artists, poets, cooks in our midst—and having a go ourselves. After the service take time at the exhibition of Barbara Shaw’s paintings. Examine how she has applied the paint. How she’s captured a sense of direction and journey through the picture. Used colour to convey a sense of light. Study and enjoy her creative talent—and then have a go yourself. Do it, be creative. Something this week that you can show someone else and say ‘what do you think?’ Make yourself vulnerable by offering something of yourself. Do it—for God’s sake.
I had one of those special conversations this week that remains with you, leaving questions that kept me pondering. Alison Woolley works as a music therapist with children who find it difficult to communicate with words. She tells me how every so often a profoundly reticent child will connect, suddenly and wonderfully, with her. It will always be non-verbal—words are not there. But it will be a moment of the most intense intimacy, conveyed through gesture, through touch, through a gaze. Such moments are rare, and very precious—moments of break through—moments of the deepest communication.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

Perhaps the most exciting thing about our Christian faith is that God reveals Godself—encounters us—not just in the spiritual realm, but also in the material world. In flesh. In bodies. In the natural world around us—as the psalmist sang. God is there—pre-eminently in the Word made flesh—in Jesus Christ. It wasn’t just the words that Jesus spoke—teaching, telling stories—but it was with his body that he told of God’s love. His body—his flesh and blood. His body sang aloud of God’s grace—God’s active love. As he lived and moved and went among us—God’s love shone through him. As he slept and prayed, calmed the material world, the storms and waves. As he ate and drank, as he touched and healed. Jesus used his body—his body’s grace—to speak of God. The word made flesh, dwelling among us, full of grace and truth.
And no where is this more true than his body on the Cross—his wounded, torn body—yet still it sang of God’s grace.
Those children with Alison—they too are using their bodies to convey God’s grace. No words; but yet communicating the deepest intimacy—the love that is at the heart of every true and grace-filled connection between human beings.
And you and me? How do we use our body’s grace? How aware are we of what we communicate through smile or frown, through gesture or touch?

We will all know the experience of when it goes wrong. Someone standing too close. A touchy-feely person who is just too much, who presumes on our space. That inappropriate touch that oversteps the mark. Or worse: pressure that borders on, or is, violent. The sexual undertones which are not welcome. It’s something most of us will have experienced at some time or another; body language which says the wrong things. We need to be aware of what we say through our bodies. So we don’t get it wrong.

When we get it right—it can be the most profound experience—telling out the glory of God’s grace and truth.
Listen to these words of Thomas Traherne from his Thanksgivings for the Body:

Thou has given me a body,
Wherein the glory of thy power shineth
Wonderfully composed above the beasts,
within distinguished into useful parts
Beatified without with many ornaments.
Limbs rarely poised,
And made for Heaven:
arteries filled
with celestial spirits:
Veins, wherein blood floweth,
Refreshing all my flesh,
like rivers.
Sinews fraught with the mystery
of wonderful strength,
stability,
Feeling.
For God designs thy body, for His sake,
A temple of the Deity to make.

Our bodies speak God’s grace—word made flesh—as we allow Christ to speak through us, in gestures of love, in kind and gentle gaze, in warmth of smile. Christ is present, then, in between us, making holy our intimacy, consecrating our bodies in grace and truth. We become present to each other as we are blessed by the divine, blessing us not just through our words and speech, but through our bodies, as we hold each other in God’s presence.

The material world sings aloud of God’s grace—so the psalmist knew. Our bodies sing aloud of God’s grace—however fragile or scarred they may be. If Jesus’ body on the cross can convey God’s grace, then so do ours, with our faltering steps, our stretch marks, our weak and feeble knees. Our failing eyesight and hearing. God’s grace shines through our imperfections, more than the perfect, sanitised bodies so celebrated by society around us.

The real presence of Christ is there, in the word made flesh. And we know the truth of that as we receive his body broken for his, his blood outpoured. Taking into our very inward parts the reconciling and healing grace and truth of God.
As we take the sacrament, let us become sacraments—conveying God’s grace as we create love and connection, trust and life.
As we do creative things that celebrate the joy of responding to God.
For what has come into being in Christ is life, life that is the light of all people. May our souls and bodies be radiant with that light—the light and delight of God’s grace.