What book could you read over and over again?

The Scriptures I read over and over again. Daily. The Word is living and I go to the Word of God when I am angry, happy, jealous and scared. And many other emotions in between. When I am confused, doubting and weary I feel like I am on the road to Emmaus. Walking away. The comfort always comes and I feel like the two disciples who really were on the road to Emmaus and who said:

‘Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road,
while he opened to us the Scriptures?’
And they rose that same hour and returned to Jerusalem. (Luke 24.32)

Sermons, certain music, and the interpretation of Scripture restore my balance. Quench unwelcome despair and bring clarity. And for this to happen, the church needs to be messy, not clinical, not politically correct.

We had wintry hearts ploughing a winter garden last Sunday even though spring was speaking to everyone who could listen. We felt heavy, more Good Friday than Easter Sunday as we trudged our pilgrim to Church. Old ladies bent over almost in half with walking sticks extending from their palms greeted us with hymnals. All ages, shapes and sizes in modest linen dress. The sheep individually loved, collectively nurtured. 

A famous convert once said that it was his umbrella being stolen during church that made him know he was in the right place. `We’re all Jock Tamson’s bairns’ is how we Scots used to put it – all God’s children with true equality, solidarity, and humanity. An inclusivity lawmakers and policy enforcers can only dream of.

Pope Francis nailed it. He wanted a church `bruised, hurting and dirty’ A church that has been out on the streets. Not one enjoying its own security.

And yet, today, a multitude of voices, more cacophony than symphony, threatens to douse our wilting flames. An army of children wriggle and scream, captured, they feel, in this offline ream. Parents bargain with “emergency chocolate” crayons and dress up clothes.

The hymns offer no armistice. No ceasefire from the bored child’s next move.  No-one seems to encourage them to sing which would use up some of their youthful energy.

Jesus clearly said bring me the little children:
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19:14)

I doubt he meant to enable them to be resentful and without experiencing awe and reverence. And of course distracting everyone around them. Coming to Jesus always involves some discipline. Very early in the Catholic church our baptism, sacrament of confession and holy communion all presuppose the development of conscience. The age of reason doesn’t just come on our 7th birthday. I dare say my parents invoked a military style operation for the six of us kids to behave at church. But my love of Jesus developed early from trying to follow the hymns and trying to be quiet for others. From learning the routines within that hour – the offertory, coins jangling at the collection, the sign of peace.

Of course it looks great and the church feels this is their investment for the future. Even at the expense of bypassing parishioners in front of them. Today. Jesus also said bring me the sick, the lonely, the war torn and the dying. Sometimes they feel their pain is lost in this charade. I say charade because for as long as a messy church is a big box of crayons there is a real vacuum.

The adults don’t get to refuel properly. Are they still on the road to Emmaus at the end of mass or have they turned back to Jerusalem? If we are to be `agents of evangelisation’ in our daily lives we need fuel. We need to hear the scriptures, the priest’s sermon. Have time to reflect and feel a part of the whole congregation.

I have Muslim friends in my workplace and they seem to easily protect their faith at work. They haven’t needed to go to court to distance themselves from transgender toilets and policies. They nurture their children’s faith but they also nurture their own. As adults.

Are we getting the spiritual fuel to do so?

The church, because it is the bride of Christ, does not conform to the values of this world. It is something much, much more. Something ineffable. Let’s protect the Christian churches so these children, currently unruly, have a place to go to hear about truth and salvation. To receive the message in-person from the Living Word, from Scripture. Not from so-called Christian politicians and artificial intelligence that pervert Scripture and force feed their agendas through media and the internet.