Pic Life

By Moira Billinge

It had been a hectic, upside-down week; the house looked like a refuse centre and although it was very late in the evening, I decided that I would bring the vacuum cleaner out of its hibernation. Despite the challenge, the machine laboured its way noisily through the detritus of my post-Christmas neglect of all things to do with housework. Alone in the darkened house , except for the company of the vacuum cleaner, to my horror the door of one of the unlit bedrooms slowly started to close. Paralysed with fear, I watched as, silently, the door shut with no hand visible to turn the handle, and no sign of human intervention. Heroic deeds will not rank high in my obituary, but, with one hand still firmly glued to the machine, I tried to push the door open. However, an unseen and seemingly determined counter- force pushed against me, and during that time the worst moments of every ghost story and murder mystery which I had ever read or seen replayed their gruesome scenarios in my mind. I feared the worst, not knowing what ‘the worst’ might be. According to the experts, fear triggers a surge of adrenalin through the blood stream, its purpose being, supposedly, to prepare us for ‘fight or flight’. It did neither for me; glued to the spot and scared witless, not knowing who or what was in there, the words ‘Jesus, help me’ repeated themselves again and again in my brain. How many terrified seconds passed? They seemed like an eternity. For some reason, I looked down and saw the looped coils of flex jammed between the carpet and the door frame. In reality, as I had pulled the vacuum cleaner along the floor, its cable had quietly and invisibly been the villain that closed the door. My own hard work had, as it turned out, been the sole cause of the evening’s scary events. Plucking up courage, I switched on the light and flung open the door with such force (the adrenalin must have kicked in at last) that it is actually a good thing that there was nothing behind it, human, or otherwise! Being a Christian does not exclude us from fear, or necessarily lessen the gut-wrenching terror which can unexpectedly confront us. It does not create an automatic immunity from the very real worries about pain, illness, family and financial problems, or concerns relating to global conflict or environmental disasters. Being a Christian, however, does provide us with a loving God to call upon in the depths of that distress and ‘connects’ us to the One whom we believe will rescue us, and will be there for us no matter how seemingly hopeless or desperate the situation. Or as St Peter asked: ‘Lord, to whom would we go?’

Witness spring unfold with a trip to Stoke-on-Trent, where nature’s beauty and humankind’s fine works can be found side by side, writes Lucy Oliver. The gardens and ancient woodlands of Trentham Estate on Stoke’s southern fringes lure walkers to appreciate rare species of flora and fauna on nature trails. There are more orderly treats too, such as the landscaped gardens and a circular, Capability Browndesigned lake. Just a 15-minute drive away is Middleport Pottery where you can learn about the traditional pottery-making methods that were pivotal to the city’s great industrial heritage. Originally named after the partners Burgess and Leigh, who took over the running of an earthenware business in Burslem in 1851, the business later became known as Burleigh and is renowned for retaining unique methods in shaping pottery. Today, its visitor centre houses the largest collection of ceramic moulds in Europe, and the site also boasts a steam engine and a Grade 2-listed kiln. A one-hour factory tour offers a chance to learn about production from a lump of clay to a finished pottery item, while traditional oatcakes are served on the company’s pottery ware in the café. Middleport Pottery is open from 10am-4pm. Call 01782 499766 to book or visit: https://www.burleigh.co.uk/pages/visit-middleport-pottery

On a liturgical note Canon Philip Gillespie

‘Listen carefully, my child, to your Master's precepts, and incline the ear of your heart.’ (Prov. 4:20) This is how the great Monastic Rule written by Saint Benedict over 1,500 years ago begins and it seems to sum up well the attitude of the Christian for this Season of Lent –we are to listen ‘with the ears of the heart’. To what should we listen? To the world around us which clamours for our attention about the next ‘musthave, must-do, must-be’? To the wars and rumours of wars and the increasingly alarming tales of our inhumanity to brothers and sisters near and far? To the catalogue of failed promises, abuses of position and authority, and the scant regard for the precious yet fragile gift of human life? Solely to do this is to run the risk of being so overwhelmed by the darkness of sin as to be unable to muster the confidence to light the one candle which can dispel that darkness. In this Season of Lent we are to listen rather to some ‘Good News’, the fundamental and perennial proclamation of the desire of God –Father, Son and Holy Spirit – to draw us into greater and deeper relationship and communion. It is the proclamation of a dignity founded not on what we can do or earn or own but on the once-andfor-all offering made by Jesus, a self-giving love which is renewed for us each and every day in and through the celebration of the Sacraments. The Lord’s own invitation to us is that we play our own unique part in this ‘Good News’ for the world: Do this in Memory of Me. And that one candle which can set about dispelling the darkness? You will hear of it when you gather in your parish for the Easter Vigil. As the Paschal Candle is lit, we proclaim the Risen Christ as ‘the Light, rising in glory, which dispels the darkness of our hearts and minds’.

We’ve lived through the wilderness of lockdown. Many have also experienced the wilderness of self-isolation. Until recently, every obituary included a person’s war service along with details of their childhood and education. Will books be written and films made about Covid-19? ‘What did you do in the pandemic, grandma?’ The wilderness does funny things with your mind. We forget what day of the week it is. We get up late. We stay up late. We eat meals at crazy times. And we learn that daily structures and habits only give an illusion of control. Like war, the desert can make us or break us. We come to recognise that life, with me ‘in the driving seat’, is a fantasy. The First Sunday of Lent is ‘Temptation Sunday’. The gospel tells the story of Jesus in the wilderness. Stripped bare of the routines and distractions of daily living, the desert allows both Satan and the Holy Spirit to emerge. Jesus sees through the

Mgr John Devine OBE

devil’s sleight of hand. Choices, previously blurred and complicated, are seen in sharper focus. ‘Grey areas’, fudge and compromise can’t survive the clarity of the wilderness. Led by Moses, the people of Israel spent 40 years in the wilderness after their deliverance from slavery. Some longed for a return to slavery. The regular meals provided by Egyptian overseers seemed preferable to freedom and starvation in the desert. God answered their prayers with the gift of mana. What about us? We can run away from this Lent’s call into the wilderness. But there are other forms of wilderness that we can’t run away from: bereavement, serious illness, marriage breakdown, redundancy or addiction. But God will give us what we need, even if it’s not what we want.

Right at the centre of our Lenten observance looms the cross of Christ. It both fascinates and repels us as we wrestle with what it means and what it invites us to reflect on. Who in our modern sophisticated age would think of such a barbaric form of torture? Yet in some parts of our world it is again becoming a reality. For the ancient peoples, crucifixion was the most horrendous death. The law of Moses stated that anyone who was crucified was cursed by God. Jesus was crucified on Golgotha, a rubbish dump, smelly and full of vermin. Very few would go there because of disease. What Jesus was doing by dying on the cross was identifying with everyone who seemed to be beyond redemption and showing us, if we have eyes to see, that God is perfectly at home with mess and suffering and will bring life out of any death. You see what the cross shows us is that no-one is outside the realm of God’s mercy. God’s love is limitless and available to anyone – even those who seem to be on the outside; even those we categorise and label and judge. Messy, broken lives can lead us to a deep and vibrant inner life if we hand over our mess to Christ. God does not work by human standards. It is not the powerful, clever or strong way that God chooses. It is the wisdom of God that life comes through death, that brokenness is the way to wholeness, that the cross is the way to life. The image of God that most people seem to have is of a God who is in control and has the whole world held, charting its way through history. It is why so many people are unable to get beyond the 'why' question: why does God allow pain and suffering? Why does God allow violence and pain? Why, why, why? There is another image of God, though. It is the image of the incarnate God who hangs on a cross – vulnerable, broken and bleeding. This is the God who enters into, and suffers with, humanity in order to show us that God is with us. God as well as being omnipotent is vulnerable and broken for us and leads us to life. This Lent, pray about the cross. Let it horrify you and fascinate you. See in it your own mess and brokenness, and – as Jesus cried out to God – do the same and allow God to do what God has always wanted to do for us: allow God to raise you to life.