Note to reader. I included this story in an article I wrote for the Contact Magazine back in 2017, and on here for an Advent reflection in 2016. I like it because it helps me understand the love that inspired the Incarnation, and why we should celebrate Christmas. I know… its June… just bear with me.

A grandfather found his grandson, jumping up and down in his playpen, crying at the top of his voice. When Johnnie saw his grandfather, he reached up his little chubby hands and said, “Out, Gramp, out.” It was only natural for the Grandfather to reach down to lift the little fellow out of his predicament; but as he did, the mother of the child stepped up and said, “No, Johnnie, you are being punished, so you must stay in.” The grandfather was at a loss to know what to do. The child’s tears and chubby hands reached deep into his heart, but the mother’s firmness in correcting her son for misbehaviour must not be lightly taken. Here was a problem of love versus law, but love found a way. The grandfather could not take the youngster out of the playpen, so he crawled in with him.

The only problem with this story is that it is unfinished. At some point the grandfather must leave the playpen, and Johnnie must grow up, learn from his mistakes and move on. So, you’ll be pleased to know I’m not 6 months behind, I’m not calling for a second Christmas to be added to our calendars, no matter how much I love the Australian tradition of a good BBQ on Christmas Day. Instead I’m suggesting we make more of the Ascension of Jesus in our lives. 

The Church marks and celebrates the Ascension this year on the 30th May. We do so to remind ourselves that Jesus is indeed still with us, whilst knowing that it is now our task to mature in faith, and to take our role as Christians in the world seriously.
I agree that Ascension Day is an obscure Christian holiday. It celebrates an event that is difficult for the modern scientific mind to take literally, and the truth that Jesus ascended to heaven when he could have stayed, is quite unhelpful to Christians more generally. I mean let’s be honest – if the resurrected Jesus was still with us in person, spreading the Gospel would be a whole lot easier. He’d be very popular on YouTube for a start. Jesus ascending into heaven was like our best player being substituted off the pitch in extra-time, at the very moment we needed him the most. 
Despite this, we declare in church that the Ascension is central to our faith. 
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We publicly state it every week in our creed. Why? Well, its because we know we must grow in our faith, grow in life, remain dependent on the love of God in Jesus but free to exercise our faith in the world. Here are three reasons why should keep the Ascension high up in our lives.

The Ascension is a call to worship.
In Acts 1:9 it says that Jesus was ‘lifted up’, he didn’t get taken up on some divine hoist, or sky elevator. He was lifted up. The first thing to note here is that the original Greek text conveys an earthly perspective not a heavenly one. It literally means the world ‘lifted’ Jesus toward his Father, which conveys the ascension as a moment of glory. The Ascension is therefore a call to worship. When we meet in church and remember the Ascension, we lift Jesus to his rightful place as having authority in our lives.

The Ascension is a reminder that it is good for us that Jesus returned to the Father. One way of seeing the Ascension is like it’s Christmas in reverse. God comes down to be with us, and then God returns, to remain in us.  Teresa of Avila writes, ‘Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours. Yours are the eyes through which the compassion of Christ is to look out on a hurting world. Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good. Yours are the hands with which he is to bless now.

The Ascension was the moment the Church became the Church. One of the many privileges of being vicar of All Saints Highertown is my seeing all the amazing people that are involved in community run projects, such as resident’s associations, community choirs, and the many support groups that use the church. I am proud that they are part of our life, and that the body of Christ is rich and varied. And this is the point. The Church is not a community organisation, it is not an institution, it is not a religion. The Church was always meant to be body of Christ, the person of Jesus to the rest of the world. In so many ways we have lost our way, but there are equally ways in which we have lived out this identity with all we can offer. And so here is the task we are reminded of on Ascension Day. Our greatest task of all is to be what we are meant to be. To be like Him who saved us. 

​Revd Jeremy Putnam

Samaritans 116 123
​Cruse Bereavement Support Helpline 0808 808 1677
Premier Christian Helpline 0300 111 0101

​The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. (Isaiah 9:2)

​We have all experienced darkness.
We have all failed to see.
We have all hidden in the shadows.
We have all reached for the comfort of the night.

And some have experienced all these things with severe intensity.
Some have been so overwhelmed by darkness that even a pin prick of light, seen with open eyes, can be profoundly life changing.
Some have been to the very bottom of the darkest pit. Where death seems all too close, and tragically for some, has even felt appealing.

The fact of the matter is, in our communities there are people that feel just like this, right now. And yet, at Christmas, the world talks of light as if every festivity, every meal time, every shopping trip and every candle lit can make everything better, everything lighter. They don’t. For those who suffer with depression, low-self esteem, or stress; for those who continue to mourn the loss of loved ones; for those whose families are divided, or even harming, Christmas comes like the darkness. In fact for many of us, even if we do not share these same challenges, Christmas can feel heavy not light.

I was sat in the barbers on Friday waiting to have my haircut. A young man was in the chair ahead of me, he was talking to the barber about Christmas. This young man, probably about 22 years old was expressing his severe dislike of Christmas. “It is stressful.” He said. “I don’t have the money. There is too much expectation and not enough time.” He even went on to say, “It is the one time of the year where I feel the most hurt.”
Christmas comes like the darkness.

How can we take the words of Isaiah (Isaiah 9:2-7) seriously? Especially when he says, ‘the people who walk in darkness have seen a great light.’ What light? The latest John Lewis advert? The Black Friday glitzy adverts? The lights of late-night shopping? What light?

The message from Isaiah is clear. For those that sit in darkness, or fear, or failure, or want: rescue is coming!
For Christians this news of rescue comes in the shape and form of a child. This is the single reason the church is gathered on Christmas Eve: “a child has been born for us, a son given to us.”

For this child is the gift. This child is our light, our rescue, and our good news. When the church is at its best, and it is offering what it is called to offer, it takes its role as the stable and manger, cradling the child in its embrace with the world, in the embrace of our aching human hearts.

After all, it is for this light, this child given to us, that our painters have painted, our musicians composed, our architects designed, our martyrs died, our healers healed, our activists agitated, and our preachers preached. [Nancy Taylor, Feasting on the Word, Year C, 2006]
More good works have been inspired by this child than any other. And yet more and more feel the pressures of Christmas and what it has become. So what can we say?

"It’s always darkest before the dawn.”
This is as true for us, as it was for Isaiah. Think of the darkness of the womb before new life meets the world. Think of the darkness of the tomb before that first Easter morn. Think of the darkness of the early morning shadows before the sun rises. Think of the darkness of the blind man’s gaze before the miraculous deeds of Jesus returned his sight. Think of the darkness you have witnessed yourself, before hope replaced it with light. At Christmas we must always remember that the light has come, and the light is coming.

And so rather than ask where the light is? Why not ask who the light is?
Ironically, in a season that is so filled with light, - Christmas trees, festive street lights, fireworks, candlelit Christmas dinner tables and the like, it can still end up feeling as though Christmas comes like the darkness. It can be a very difficult time for many many people. But when we ask the question – 'who is the real light?' then we can look beyond the many lights of the season, and see the one true light, the light that has come to enlighten everyone.
Jesus is indeed the light of the world. It is only his word and his message that can suppress the darkness from our lives. You can have as many Christmas lights, shopping days and inspirational adverts as you like, but unless we seek the one who is the true light, then Christmas will always be less than what it was meant to be.

And the third, and last thing is to say that it is only through Him, Jesus, that we can overcome the darkness in our lives. In the symbolic battle between light and darkness, of which the bible refers to frequently, the moment we think we can manage with our own light and strength, is the moment we are in danger of losing the fight. In my experience, and from what I have witnessed in the lives of others, those that have sought the light of God, and who have welcomed the Christ child into their lives, have also admitted in the same breath that they cannot do it alone. It is that same moment that light truly comes, and they receive the power to overcome darkness. Once we come to believe that a light greater than ourselves can restore us and rescue us, then we do indeed walk in the light of Christ.

For the people who walk in darkness have seen a great light.

If you know someone who is really struggling this Christmas, who might also be suffering with depression or anxiety, or a deep sense of loss then please make sure you encourage them to talk to someone about it. Create some space for them, in the midst of the busyness of Christmas, so they have permission, to feel and to be heard. For those who need more urgent support, go with them to see there GP, help them pick up the phone to the Samaritans 116 123, or phone a bereavement support line like Cruse Bereavement Support Helpline 0808 808 1677​ . For when we receive the light of Christ in our lives, we can share that same light with others.

​Revd Jeremy Putnam

You may not know that the very first Black Friday was Nov 18th 1910, and it had nothing to do with shopping. On this day 300 women marched to the Houses of Parliament as part of their campaign to secure voting rights for women. The day earned its name from the violence meted out to protesters, some of it sexual, by the Metropolitan Police and male bystanders. Thanks to the courageous perseverance of these suffragette women, and even earlier the commitment of Chartism for the working class, there is now equality in voting. We still have a way to go though, inequality is still very present in our society.

You may be wondering why I am talking about Black Friday when the rest of the Church is probably talking about Advent & Christmas. Inequality was certainly very real at the time of Jesus’ birth. Consider Mary the mother of Jesus. Mary had no status, or societal influence. Her wealth was next to nothing, and she had no real material value that would’ve caused people to stand up and take notice. And yet because of this, God chooses Mary. In the eyes of the world she had nothing to give and yet Gabriel was sent to her with some extraordinary news. Mary was a young girl in a society that valued men and maturity; she was lowly and poor as her canticle of praise mentions. In other words, Mary was not someone who was favoured in the world, but Christians learn from the Gospels that she was indeed honoured in the eyes of God, she was in fact blessed because of her poverty.

It’s important to know that Mary’s status before God would have undoubtedly brought her shame. In her day, an unmarried woman expecting a child was cause for disgrace. It broke every social and familial law of acceptability. Not only would her condition bring shame on the family, but to try and explain it was somehow a blessing from God, that conception was by account of a visit from God’s messenger, well, this would have been blasphemy of the highest order. Nevertheless, she trusts God. Mary’s part in the Good News and the Incarnation is so inspiring, so extraordinary, and so liberating for us because of her faith.

Mary was the first champion of the Christian faith, showing such courage despite facing the possibility of social darkness, disgrace, shame and violence. Because of her faith the Word of God came into the world. To the world around her Mary had nothing to give. To us, as Christians, we learn that Mary had everything to give, and held nothing back. Her faith inspires us today.

And so, this Christmas I hope like Mary, you know the grace to trust God completely. There are many challenges still facing our society with regards to freedom and equality, and we do need boldness and faith to survive them and to challenge them. But my prayer this Advent and Christmas time is that we learn how loved we are by God through the inspiring faith and motherhood of Mary, and together make the changes God longs to see.

May God bless you and keep you this Christmastide.
Revd Jeremy Putnam.

All Saints Church has been involved in collecting and delivering aid to refugees in Europe and further afield for several years. Just this year Rowley Surridge, one of our churchwardens and Project Leader for the All Saints European and Syrian aid trips has been to Calais several times in 2017 and again this year, with a further trip planned this June. The refugee situation has not and will not go away and refugees are returning to the Calais and Dunkirk area despite the closure of the “Jungle”.
 
Why does a small church in Cornwall get involved in an international crisis? As Christians we are called over and over again by the words of the Bible in both Old and New Testaments to help others, particularly those who are victims of injustice.
 
Deuteronomy 10:18-19 reminds the Israelites:
“For the Lord your God...loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing.  You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” 
 
Leviticus 19:33-34; 24:22  instructs them:
“When the foreigner resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the foreigner.  The foreigner who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the foreigner as yourself, for you were once foreigners in the land of Egypt:  I am the Lord your God.”
 
 and the gospel of Luke tells us: Luke 3:11
“Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”
 
Matthew 8:20 records the words of Jesus: "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head."
 
Jesus, and therefore Christians too, belong to a people indelibly marked by stories of Exodus and exile. Like the millions of Syrians today, Jesus and his family were forced to flee their home and find refuge. In Jesus’ case the destination was Egypt, the very place that his family’s ancestors fled in the time of Moses. We believe that God will bring justice to the world and right wrongs  as part of that he will also ask us to account for our actions:
 
Matthew 25:35-40
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
 
Further information on ways to get involved with the Cornish response to the refugee crisis can be found on our website http://www.asht.org.uk/refugee-crisis.html. We also have several initiatives to help local people in need, one of which is Acts 435  http://www.asht.org.uk/acts-435.html.
 
Revd Jeremy Putnam

What speed does God move at? That is the question we were asked to ponder during the seven week course “Live Godspeed”. The title comes from the theologian N.T. Wright who explains that as God came to us in the incarnated Jesus in first century Galilee, God’s speed is a walking pace. In other words we need to “slow down to keep up with God”, to live our lives in the moment and to be present to our surroundings and the people around us in a way that isn’t possible if we are swept along by 21st century hurry and anonymity.

The course challenged us to examine our lives and the ways in which we were not present to God, each other and our communities. Do we take the time to see other’s virtues as well as their faults?  Do we feel that we “belong” to where we live, are we truly known by those around us? Do we feel like pastor and theologian Eugene Peterson that “there is no place on earth without the potential for unearthing holiness”? How can we practice stability in our modern, transient society and re-humanise our towns and cities? 

The Bible has many stories which examine being known and present: from the Genesis account of Adam and Eve in the garden hiding from God and choosing not to be known, to Jesus being present with people that society didn’t even consider worth acknowledging let alone being present with, such as the Samaritan woman described in John’s gospel chapter 4 verses 4-26. In fact the story throughout the Bible is of God with us, culminating in His ultimate presence within our flawed and messy world through birth, life, death and resurrection in the human person of Jesus.

Those of us who attended the original Godspeed Course have been trying to live the lessons learned. We are exploring mindfulness, vulnerability and being fully present to God where we are and in the body we have. N.T Wright says that it is useless to complain about our rushed and shallow culture but that as Christians we must subvert it instead. We can do this in so many ways-by taking the time to learn somebody’s name, or even just smile and make eye contact in the situations where it is so easy to say “I haven’t got time”;“it doesn’t matter”; it’s not my problem”. Why not chat to the cashier in the supermarket while you are packing your bags or maybe that person you always try to avoid…. 

Being present and known by others enables us to recognise the image of God in one another and those who we may consider “other” but whom we can bring into the loving community of the Kingdom of God as brothers and sisters. However, to know ourselves and others takes a lifetime and can only be done in community. So perhaps it is time to start meeting together as a group again to practice mindfulness and being present and encourage each other to be present to the world around us.

Information about the Live Godpseed course can be found at https://www.livegodspeed.org/. Do speak to Revd Jeremy Putnam if you are interested in attending the next course which begins on 8th November. It has the potential to change your life and that of those around you.

This month's article was written by Kirsty Basram (Parish Administrator) who attended the first Live Godspeed course at All Saints Highertown.

The smell caught me off guard. I had already brushed off the powdery residue of toxic raindrops on my bear arms and wiped the crud off my cheeks as I came in off the streets. And now a fume that carried a sickening sense of forgottenness was scraping at the back of my throat as I crossed the threshold. This dilapidated orphanage in some backwater industrial zone of Suceava was nothing short of shocking. From no fault of its own, what once stood as a life giving infant sanctuary was now debased; spoiled by an arrogant death that smugly showed off its stench to any good intended visitor.

P%$* and s*!& came to mind before the fact I was in the company of motherless children. I felt like a bloody tourist.
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I was 16 and had signed up for a Christian mission in Romania to build a church and do some street evangelism. In the summer of 1992, before the cotton wool world of risk-aversity emerged, I spent a few weeks with a Romanian family in a block of flats that overlooked the city. From this height I was expecting to see a city scape or maybe even the ominous Carpathian Mountains to the west, but instead nothing other than the thick layer of smog that covered everything. Pollution had saturated the clouds and whenever it rained it bubbled like a fizzy lemonade on the pavements. The smog acted as a oppressive reminder that nothing had really changed since the fall of communism and the assassination of Nicolae Ceaușescu in 1989, well at least not yet anyway. The country’s economic system had collapsed entirely, barely getting by with a GDP growth rate of -12.4%, the lowest in Romania’s recorded fiscal history. Money had no real value anymore, so many people paid with items that had a much higher value, like milk, potatoes and beans.

I had arrived in Romania as part of a mission team that carried aid like clothes and medical supplies. We also had kid’s toys, lots of kid’s toys. The UK had reacted with a knee jerk and there were lots of aid trips going over with all sorts of donations.
After spending a week digging out a trench for a new sewerage system for the church build, the team decided to take our donations to a nearby orphanage in Suceava. Aside from the smell which was just simply impossible to ignore we were told that there were 10-12 nurses on staff at any one time, for the 400+ children that were accommodated. Children from new-borns to teenagers were separated on each floor of the concrete multi-storey complex.

I remember the building feeling more like a prison than a hospital, but it had a similar layout to both. Long corridors with rooms off each side. Large windows in each door allowed you to look in on the desperate occupants. Some rooms had larger windows beside the door, so you could check more carefully without the need to enter. Light switches were on the outside of the room.
As we toured the corridors I began to feel increasingly more uncomfortable with my own life at home. I felt embarrassed that we had thought to bring toys, and even ourselves. Mickey Mouse and I were about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike.

The smell was getting worse.

We were led up the stairs to this first floor dedicated to children aged 2 to 4. We passed a room filled with cuddly toys and unwrapped gifts, we paraded passed another containing cot mattresses. Then after a few more paces we stopped outside a room with two children in cots. One, a girl, seemingly dead, still, pale and eyes wide open, the other a boy. If it weren’t for the other boy’s crying lament I would have thought it was a morgue. The nurse checked the girl and reassured us she was breathing. The boy wouldn’t stop weeping.

I didn’t know who this boy was, what his name was, or where he was from; but at that moment I had never felt more connected to anyone else. His tears were my tears. I don’t mean in some westernised empathetic sense, the kind that signals to the virtue before the humanity, but in a sense that i was feeling lost, entirely lost. I don’t know why I did what I did next. Maybe I just felt compelled to do something, to prevent this 'feeling of being lost' entirely overwhelming me. Maybe it was the combination of the soiled mattress, the cold walls, the crying, the smell of urine catching the back of my throat, the girl laying lifeless, and Mickey Mouse in the room next door. I was nothing, I was lost, and yet I had to do something.

As the nurse turned to leave the room, I walked over to the boy and held out my hands to offer an embrace. He reached over the cot side bar and I lifted him up and out. His arms clung to me like a limpet on a jagged rock. His head rested in my neck, shaking and convulsing, hyper-ventilating. His body had resorted to a kind of physiological revulsion over the circumstance and his surroundings. He wouldn’t let go.

This was my conversion experience. The day that death died. I had come to Romania to share the good news, but I had at times slipped into thinking that I had brought Jesus with me. That I had something that others needed and wanted. The truth is I had nothing. I was lost. I hadn’t even contemplated the idea that Jesus might have already been there.

Yes, I was a Christian. I had a sense of mission. I wanted to do good and share the message of God’s love. I knew Jesus was light of the world, and that his Church was like a prism refracting his light in the darkest of places. Yet, in this orphanage I was lost, I had nothing. I couldn’t even say Dumnezeu te iubește, God loves you.

This boy. In my arms. He was like Christ to me. I’d read about Jesus appearing to Paul on the road to Damascus, I had heard about the fisherman being called out of their boats, and how Thomas had seen the wounds of Christ and believed. I didn’t think it would happen to me.

This boy was Christ to me. I had nothing, and he held on. I was lost, and he found me. Most of the time humanity hates and attack what it has good reason to love. I hated poverty, I hated the stench and my lostness in it. And yet, in a worldly sense, this boy I held and every other child in that orphanage was more lost than I will ever be, and more hated than I will ever be – hated so much that their lives are seen as burden. But in that embrace and my conversation to really let Jesus into my life, I remembered that hope is not some vague belief that all will work out well, but as Richard Rohr puts it, ‘biblical hope is the certainty that things finally have a victorious meaning no matter how they turn out.’ Now I believe in generous justice, a God who met us in the poverty of Christ and spoke to us in the terminus between dark and light.
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I have always wondered about that boy, where he is now, what he's doing. In my searching for him, I keep finding Christ.
If you want to know how to respond. Speak to your nearest Christian about Jesus, and/or lookup www.whitecrossmission.com

Revd Jeremy Putnam