Religion places time and timelessness together, places them in parallel. Not that they can stay together for very long. Our time runs out, our timelessness runs nowhere, for that is its property. It just is. When God became man to enter what he had created, being now human he experienced time. The incarnation was God’s experience of being born, growing up, becoming a citizen of a certain country, being loved by his particular family, becoming a teacher, a spiritual healer who challenged local laws and customs, and having to experience local justice. All this within the bounds of time.

The gospels are most careful to state when and where Jesus was in time; the historical Jesus, as the biographers call him, is set fairly and clearly within his times, just as each one of us is, as our birth certificates, bank accounts, national health cards and passports show, not to mention the Baptismal register. So here we are on the earth, that tiny speck in the great universe of God’s creation, fully documented and date stamped all over.

Whilst here on earth Jesus showed scant respect for time. He criticised those who allowed it to dominate their lives in such a way that they hadn’t the time to take their time, not having a spare minute, let alone a spare hour. We are guilty of this too.  ‘Congratulate me,’ the busy person says when they tell us, ‘I never have a minute to myself, I don’t have time to turn around, I just managed to get everything done in time.’

Time is at its grandest and most awe inspiring in the Bible. First, from the letter to the Hebrews, consider that glorious opening chapter which begins ‘God, who at sundry times and in divers manners, spake in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son’. And then the even more stupendous opening of St John’s Gospel, ‘In the beginning was the Word’. Both writers run time and timeless, mortality and immortality, the temporal and the eternal, side by side, like twin tracks on a railway line, one going as far as the terminus, the other out of sight. The incarnate one arrived at a moment when it became agonizingly plain to him that his earthly existence was over, that he had completed the task that his Father had set for him, his work was finished and also his life in time. The redemption we call it, this divine work. To redeem means to buy back, usually at a high price; we have been repossessed by God and now we can take our place at the table of his family, the church, where although the old church clock clunks and chimes its way through the service, there is no set time. We have stepped into the immeasurable, into that time for everything the bible calls rest.

We have nailed mortal time down to the split second, to the carbon-tested age of a tree stump, put down as what is a marker in what is now Norwich, which was growing when Abraham pitched his tent at Bethel, and to an exactitude which previous generations would have found a burden. For them it was daybreak or noon or evening or night. It was spring or it was summer, autumn, winter, and so life went on, sans minutes and hours for the most part. The sun came up, the sun went down. The tides went out and the times came in. The birds flew away and only God knew where. Then a great gold clock was fixed on the Parish Church and its hands told everyone when to start and when to stop, and Time ruled the roost.

The preacher of Ecclesiastes offers philosophy of Time – the best there is. He is, among other things, the master of weariness, of disillusionment. He has done it all, seen it all, had it all. The preacher allows time for everything, but it is in an allowance. There follows logically a time to cease doing this, or being that, sad though it is, and reading his beautiful statement we have to agree. There Is a time to weep and to laugh, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to keep silence and a time to speak, a time to be born and a time to die. There is in a lifetime a time for everything once we have learned to find the time, and that is the secret.

Wishing you all a happy summer time.

In June last year, Wendy Roderick wrote about her time in the Arabian desert and how the wilderness is a constant presence in the Bible. During the season of Epiphany, we have heard how John the Baptist lived in the wilderness Luke 1: 80 and baptised Jesus Luke 3 : 21. After his baptism by John “Jesus returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.” Luke 4 : 1-2.

We begin February with the Feast of Candlemas when we recall the presentation of Christ in the Temple at Jerusalem.  During February we will also recall the beginning of the Ministry of Jesus: The summoning of the disciples, the Sermon on the Mount and the Calming of the Storm on the Sea of Galilee.  This is to be our preparation for the season of Lent which begins in March and will take us into the wilderness where we have time to reflect.

I once spent time in a wilderness – it happened to be in western Iran on the Jowkar Plain where the Magi, who travelled from the East to visit the infant Jesus, might have come from.  My task there was to ensure that a steel roof was completed to protect the fragile mud brick remains of a Zoroastrian fire temple dating from the Median period which had been excavated on the summit of an isolated rock.

The experience summoned in me thoughts similar to the reflections Wendy has told us about.  However, there was one very important difference. The desert of Arabia is one of shifting sands and nothing stays still for long. Even the infrequent rains which fill the river beds and supply the oases are followed by periods of intense scorching heat which dries up everything.  The only people who inhabit this land keep moving across vast distances, relying on the few sources of water which are reliable.

The Jowkar plain in western Iran, on the other hand, was once fertile land.  The crumbling remains of villages are to be seen throughout the area and the few families who remain eke out an existence in considerable difficulty.  All the young people had left for the big cities further east where the prospects were better, leaving only the elderly and the very young in the village of their birth.

When I was left alone on the site after the archaeologists had returned to Teheran, I climbed up the rock to supervise the completion of the steel roof above the fire temple and the covering of the surrounding excavations.  The thoughts which occupied me then were concerning the transience of man’s activity amidst God’s creation.  The wilderness all around me was the result of man’s activities – which had failed.

In recent years I have begun to see that Dartmoor is a bit like that.  It is a wilderness dominated by nature but it also embraces many traces of man’s former activity in the form of hut circles, stone rows, quarries, mines and leats.  It also surrounds river valleys which continue the pattern of settlement in villages and farms which has been established for many centuries.

When I left Iran in 1972, I travelled alone through Turkey and Europe to my home in England.  It was in Turkey that I first emerged from the wilderness.  I was driving down a valley from the barren mountain pass in Georgia and noticed the tiny groups of spindly birch trees forming groves beside the river.  This illustrated the power of water.  It brought life and the new growth brought colour.  It was the greenness which was so exciting to me at that moment.  After a year spent in a grey/brown world, the sudden appearance of green leaves and silver bark with the sparkling activity of the water enticed me. The beauty is God’s creation and I wanted to stop my truck and experience the shade of the trees and feel the water running across my skin.

I have recently discovered the joys of wild swimming and this has taken me to a number of very special places where God’s creation is manifest.  The water is warmed by flowing over the surface of huge rocks which have been heated by the sun. Its flow has, over centuries, worn down the valley to form pools fed by waterfalls.

It is good to hear the sound of flowing water: the power and the energy of it and it is good to immerse yourself in the pool as you see everything from a different point of view.  The water supports your body and you can float looking up at the sky.  Everything you can see is God’s creation and what is below the surface is also God’s but a different world.  You are bridging two worlds.

At baptism the immersion of the body is a descent from our world to the world of death and the baptism is the emergence to new life in Christ.  Last year, I felt blessed to witness the baptism of my grandson Sebastian at St Michael’s Church in Brentor.  I saw him splashed with the water of baptism and I loved him even more because he has been claimed as Christ’s with the sign of the cross.  Whatever he gets up to in his life ahead, he will have the support of all the people who made promises at this ceremony; those who came from Australia, from Canada and from Holland as well as the members of the three families that have formed my son James during his life so far.

Baptism is a sacrament but it is not the only rite we need as Christians because a child is not able to discern the implications of life in Christ and others, as Godparents, promise to intercede on behalf of this child.  So when we grow up, it is important that we consider these implications for ourselves.  We can choose to confirm the promises made on our behalf by godparents and make the commitment to life in Christ for ourselves.  This choice can be supported by joining a group preparing for confirmation.  Chris Hardwick, in the January Parish Magazine, has given a very clear invitation to explore Confirmation and I commend this to everyone you know who might be embarking on this journey.

Sally and I have walked alongside candidates for Confirmation over several years and know that the journey of faith is never ending.  But confirmation is an important step because the commitment is a personal one. It affirms our relationship with God on our life journey and commits us to continue to learn as we grow. I am pleased to see that all our churches offer Pilgrim or other similar courses to give us encouragement to learn and to grow as Christians in this benefice.

The welcome I have experienced on the occasions when I have joined a study group has always been warm and inviting.  The joy of listening to others as they explore the reading and the help I have received from being there as a participant is a real blessing.  No one should be apprehensive about joining a study group because the environment is benign and safe.  Tony Vigars is leading a group in Brentor on the Acts of the Apostles which I am enjoying.  Mike Loader leads one in Tavistock and Judith Blowey has recently completed the whole series of Pilgrim Courses at Gulworthy.

During the season of Lent Chris Hardwick will be giving Lent Lectures in the parish Centre from 11.30am to 1.00pm followed by a light lunch of soup with a bread roll.  This starts on Monday 11^th March followed by 18^th March, 25^th March, 1^st April and 8^th April.  Now you have your 2019 Diaries, make sure these dates are ringed!

May every possible blessing pour upon you in 2019.

Reader Christopher of Brentor

As I was driving across Dartmoor early in November I drove past a pub with a large banner outside boldly declaring Christmas Season. My immediate reaction was, ‘but we aren’t even halfway through November, we haven’t got to Advent yet!’

It is so easy to think of December as the Christmas season. After all, town centre Christmas lights are usually switched on in November, the shops have been selling Christmas goods for weeks and Christmas dinner menus run throughout December in our local restaurants, but in the Church calendar the Christmas season begins at Christmas and most of December is the season of Advent.

How can we make space for Advent, a time of reflection and waiting, waiting patiently for the Nativity? It’s such a busy time as we dash from shop to shop, write cards and send presents, plan our parties and celebrations and look forward to spending quality time with our families. I love carol services, Crib services, Christmas tree festivals, concerts, Nativity plays, pantomimes and parties and, of course, the joy and excitement of my grandchildren as they wait for ‘Santa’, but in all our busyness it is so easy to forget why we are celebrating. Somehow we need to make space for God. We need to give God quality time too; after all without the birth of Jesus, the Son of God, whose birthday we celebrate at Christmas, there would be no parties, no presents, no Christmas dinner and certainly no carol services.

To make space for God, some of us within the Mission Community are spending a day quietly reflecting at Buckfast Abbey. I love spending time there and the drive across the moor is all part of the day. It’s part of the journey, a sort of pilgrimage. The time of quiet, whilst enjoying the countryside (unless the mist is down) is time well spent, preparing for a special time with God, our God who is delighted when we set aside time to be in his presence.

It was on a short visit to the Abbey that I passed the pub declaring the Christmas season. I wanted to go into the Abbey church and sit quietly in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel but first I enjoyed looking at one of my favourite trees. I love the Monterey Pine growing in the centre of a flowerbed between the church and the restaurant in the grounds of the Abbey. There is a notice from the head gardener in front of it which intrigues me, it begins like this:

The area has been re-designed to prevent compaction of the tree roots (Monterey Pine).

The notice then goes on to list the types of bulb that are planted in the flowerbed, flowers that won’t choke the roots of the pine. The roots need space to provide sufficient nourishment for the tree to flourish.

It reminds me of Jesus’s parable of the sower where only the seed that fell on good ground grew up to bear fruit. That’s a parable about the word of God and how, so often, we fail to listen to it. Sometimes we take no notice. Other times we are delighted by what we hear, but then times get difficult and we forget, or become distracted by all the other things that are going on which get in the way. That’s why it’s good to make an effort to give time to be with God, to strengthen our roots, to allow him to nourish us through the word of God and refresh us with spiritual living water. St Paul in his letter to the Colossian Christians wrote:

Just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness. Col 2:6-7 (NIV)

 Our lives need to be firmly rooted in Jesus. It’s important to give him quality time, so sometimes I like to go somewhere special so I can really focus. The monks of Buckfast Abbey offer the space and peaceful setting I need to become more rooted in Jesus and I am pleased they are also seeking to provide the right environment for their Monterey Pine to flourish too!

In the run up to Christmas please make space for Jesus; it’s time well spent.

Hazel Butland (Reader)

‘I call you friends’ – this was the title of the Ordination retreat held at Sheldon. The text for the retreat was taken from John 15: 9-17.  I share with you a small part of our retreat.

We were shown a copy of an icon which dates from the 8^th century of Christ with Abba Mena (there are many prints and the icon can be viewed on line). The original icon is hanging in the Louvre in Paris. The French, however, title the icon ‘Christ and His Friend’.

The text from John’s Gospel reads ‘I do not call you servants any longer because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because  I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my father’. (John15:15)

The icon depicts Christ with his arm around the friend.  The friend is Abba Mena; he can be seen to represent each one of us. Jesus does not face his friend, rather he stands alongside him; he accompanies him, sharing the burdens of his life. ‘Christ no longer calls us servants but friends’.  The second striking thing about this icon is the position of the eyes. Christ has an eye on his friend and another looking out. This gives us an insight on how we all need to have one eye focused on Christ and one looking out to those in our care, to our neighbours and friends.  As John 15:12 reads; ‘This is my commandment that you love one another’.

The icon shows Christ holding the scriptures; God’s word, the word that tells of the love between God and humanity. We are like the friend in the icon who is holding a small scroll which is rolled up, God’s loving plan not yet fully revealed. Another fascinating detail of this icon is that Christ is depicted without feet. The friend has feet; it is we who are being sent out.  ‘As the Father has sent me so I send you’. (John 20:21)

There is a silence (as in all icons) to be discovered in this icon; both Jesus and his friend’s mouths are closed. The friend, however, is drawn with very prominent ears. We are the listeners of Christ; the silence in the icon is a prayerful silence.  Prayer is the very essence of our relationship with God.

I am writing this piece in early October; however, it will be read in November when churches across our Mission community and throughout the country will be commemorating the ending of World War 1 one hundred years ago. As we remember and pay our respects to all those who went to war, to the horror that they endured and to the many thousands who did not return home, like the icon, as we have one eye focused on Christ and one on our neighbour, so we pray for peace and reconciliation in our world today.

Lord strengthen our hearts, hands and minds to work together for peace; to see you in one another, and to seek your kingdom above all things, that your will may be done, and your kingdom come, through Jesus Christ, the Lord of Lords and King of kings. Amen

(Church of England resources)

^{The Very Reverend Dr Christopher Hardwick, Vicar of Tavistock, Gulworthy and Brent Tor writes:}

^{Healing into Trust}

 ^“Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Bethzatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many invalids – blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.” (John 5:2-9)

We can picture the scene at the pool in Bethzatha, and the desperately plaintive cry of the man by the pool: “I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up”.  This is the cry of someone who is deeply alone, who has had no friend to help him for 38 years – we see how easy it is for suffering, and sickness, and weakness, to marginalize and isolate people.  But why does Jesus choose this particular man, above all others at the pool, to heal? Perhaps he is more seriously ill or has been there longer.  Or perhaps it is this person who reflects something of Jesus’s own destiny.  In a world where everything is given to the quick and the strong, surely this man, who cries out of darkness and desperation “I have no one”, reflects the fallen and broken world with which Jesus finally identifies when he cries from the Cross “Why have you forsaken me?” In the world of rivalry and competition around that small healing pool in Jerusalem, we see someone on the margins of life – without hope, and in need – yet overlooked by those around him. There is always someone before him.  But into this situation comes Jesus.  And Jesus heals him, and in doing so breaks the vicious and remorseless logic of competition and marginalization.  Now the last shall be first.  It is pure gift.  In this healing miracle we glimpse the intimacy of the God who is close to us and who brings hope to all who suffer.  This intimacy and healing is pure gift, and it is closer to us than anything we can imagine.

Jesus brings healing and wholeness to a person who seeks his help.  But how do we understand God’s healing in our own lives?  In a very real sense our lives are a mystery.  We can be hurt, we can suffer, and in so many different ways.  In the story we have heard it was when the waters were “stirred up” that the sick were healed.  Here the earlier translation of the Revised Standard Version of the Bible is better, for there the verse reads: “I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is troubled” (RSV Jn 5:7).  Similarly, in our own lives, it is often when we are anxious or troubled that we can be healed – even though we do not know the way in which God will do this.  Jesus asked the man by the pool “do you want to be healed?” and he indicated his willingness to be helped – his willingness to place his trust in Jesus – and he was healed.  In a similar way when we, or those for whom we pray, are troubled or suffer in any way, we are invited to place our trust in Jesus, to seek his help and his blessing – to let his love into the most painful places of our lives – whether in body, mind or spirit.  It is then we may begin to experience healing.

But what does this really mean? We may feel in some way that God has let us down, that we have been forsaken, that God really isn’t at work in our lives.  With all the pressures and pains of life a God who cares for us, who nurtures us, who heals, who wants us to be fully perfected, may seem very distant – and difficult, if not impossible, to believe in or trust. I think we need to begin with an affirmation.  We need to affirm that God not only creates us, but sustains us throughout our lives.  We need also to affirm that we live in God’s world, in his kingdom, and that Jesus is alive and active.  In the language of the church, we need to affirm that Jesus Christ redeems us – that he will make us perfect in a way that we cannot now fully understand.  It is at this point in our thinking that our reasoning and rational thought are left behind, and faith takes over.  Because what lies ahead for us is a mystery.  Our healing, our being made whole, our perfection, is a healing into trust.  Trust in God.  Although we may not always realise that we are slowly changing, God nurtures us and sustains us.  As we journey in his kingdom he is perfecting us – in mind, body and spirit.

This is our hope; it is our healing into trust.

Chris Hardwick