Categories: uncategorized
Date: 22 December 2004 23:36:11
This was the title of the reading at the carol service I went to tonight, and it was such a powerful message - the fact the Christmas story (from the beginning right through to the crucifixion and resurrection) is entirely about outsiders - and it is in the darkness of isolation and abandonment and insignificance that Christ's light shines brightest. Christ didn't come to an in-crowd (although I suppose he did come to an inn-crowd ;) ) but to outcasts and strangers, born in a stable and killed on a rubbish heap.
A powerful message indeed when sitting amongst those whom society might reject as "lesser" beings. I had a phone call out of the blue two days ago from the prison chaplain at one of our local prisons. He had my number from a card I'd sent a couple of Christmases ago (You know, I have racked my brain and really cannot remember sending one at all) and wondered if I would be able to go to the carol service tonight, despite the short notice. I used to attend the church on a regular basis there first thing every Sunday morning and had been to the carol services every year for about four years. It was one of the few parts of my life that I have actually missed since I gave it up when I became a mother - one of the things I used to do which was really worthwhile and yet really enriched me personally... and which I also found, to my surprise, that I really enjoyed. Since I last went, about five years ago, there have been many changes including an almost complete change to the chaplaincy team. It was a bit nerveracking going in as I realised there'd be virtually nobody there I knew. But it was wonderful. The presence of God is so tangible in that crowded little church and it's fantastic to hear the strength in the singing from these men who might not be expected to see the joy of Christmas, locked away from their families and friends. To know that God's love for these men is no different than his love for me, except that it might well be more special because our God truly is the God of those whom society might well reject. And to break down once again those barriers of fear - them of me and me of them - and share a joke and a cup of coffee and mince pie and a prayer and a natter and the warmth of a sincere handshake that says "It really is good to see you here".
Now here's something that makes you wonder. As I sat there, I remembered the story I'd told the Smudgelets about how, throughout the four years that I "belonged" to the prison chapel, I had been amazed to find there was always a butterfly flying round during the services. Every time I went I'd find him, fluttering against one of the stained glass windows or visiting the artificial flowers (because they aren't allowed real ones :( ). A beautifully coloured peacock butterfly with brilliant red wings and detailed "eyes". And to my amazement as I walked out of the chapel at the end of the service, there it was again on the window on the way out!
I learn a lot from going there - hopefully as the boys get older I will begin to go again. It's a strange sort of situation - I'm sure God can't plan for me to have an active ministry there because I'm really not the best person for it. I'm far to staid and respectable, and advancing towards being the older generation of ladies that's far too out of touch with the "Young" world to enter into it without looking ridiculous. So I don't give much, but I receive a lot, and maybe that's what God has in mind. So although I do feel parasitical (yes, I do mean parasitical rather than pharasaical - if that's a word!) in going, I hope God will make it possible eventually to give something back to the community there.