Messages of Hope

This April we helped Bible Society with their stand at Spring Harvest, the big Christian Festival in Minehead.

As well as telling delegates about Bible a Month and other projects run by Bible Society, we asked if they would like to send a message of hope to a Syrian refugee.

Colourful cards were designed to slot together so we could build a tower. People of all ages left encouraging messages, prayers and Bible verses.

They were all wonderful. 

This one was fun:

The messages will be taken to a refugee camp outside Vienna in Austria this September, when Bible Society are sending out a mission to distribute Bibles. We collected more than 200 messages a day, so should have a number to give away. To find out more click here for Bible Society's website.

Dr John Sentamu, Archbishop of York

On 18th May I attended a confirmation held in Ripon. The Archbishop of York gave out copies of his address afterwards, suggesting we could sell them on eBay.

'I've just been speaking at a high-security gaol,' he went on, amused that of the prisoners called him 'Archie.'
'You seem like a dynamic man, Archie, but aren't the leaders of the church boring geeks?'

'My prayer,' The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Dr John Sentamu told us, 'is that the people of this county can talk about Jesus the way they talk about the weather. Then something will happen.' He explained that in Uganda, where he comes from they only have climate. 'Whether we know Christ or have only grasped a fragment of him, the best is yet to come.'

He spoke to the ordinands saying, 'Love always involves a responsibility, and it always involves a sacrafice. We don't really love Christ unless we are prepared to face the task he gives and to take up his cross.' 

We now hear that the Archbishop is facing treatment for prostate cancer. He must have known this when he took the service in Ripon, and yet he managed to fill the church with laughter.

As we left the service my husband thanked Dr Sentamu saying, 'Asanti sana,' (Many thanks in Swaheli). He was immediately clasped in a passionate embrace.

'Let each of us serve Christ where Christ has sent us,' the Archbishop told us. 'As the Risen Christ said to Peter: 'Never mind the task that is given to someone else. John is none of your business. Your job is to follow me and to be faithful to your calling.' 

'That is what Jesus Christ still says to each one of us. Our glory is never in comparison with others; our glory is the service of Christ in whatever capacity he has allotted to us. But all of us are called to worship him and to witness to what he has done, and is doing in our lives as we dwell in him.'

Be strong and courageous...

April 1991 ~ the time when I was taken out of Egypt.

Like the some of Israelites, I wasn't sure I wanted to go, but I went down with the plague and had little choice in the matter. No choice. I lost my job in London after falling ill with CFS or ME (or CFIDS as it's know in the states.)

Despite a few trials, I managed to cross the Read Sea and rather enjoyed wandering around in the wilderness. For me, this entailed spending twelve years in southern Africa, ever travelling and often camping in the desert. I was tempted to cast idols and make a fool of myself but got to actually study the Ten Commandments and rather enjoyed sleeping out under the stars.

On 1st January 2004 I was given the verse from Joshua 1 v 9, Be strong and courageous,  not knowing that this would lead me into the Promised Land. In June that year I met a widower, a man I thought the Lord might want me to marry. I was praying for confirmation when I noticed a ring on his little finger and asked what was inscribed on it.

'Fortiter et Fideliter,' he declared.

'Strength and Courage'. I crossed the River Jordan.

You can read more 

about how I came out of Egypt here 

One Verse - from this season's 'Word in Action'

Sophie Neville

An extract from Funnily Enough ~

24^th April ~ When I was breaking down in the office, I kept muttering, ‘Oh Jesus. Help; give me strength.’ A prayer of desperation. I was trying hard not to cry but had fallen down under my desk and was grasping the edge of the filing cabinet, determinedly saying to myself, ‘I can cope, this is just a dizzy spell.’ Only a huge pile of scripts slid on top of me. Then the Manager’s Assistant came in, discovered me groaning under this mound of pink paper, heaved me up and off to see the doctor. ‘Well, Lord, I’m still ill. If you’re in control, please tell me what’s happening.’

I lie looking at the ceiling. Nothing’s happening. I’m not getting any better. One thing’s for sure: this illness just proves how terribly weak and vulnerable I am. It’s made me realise the astonishingly obvious fact that I only have one body and it’s not disposable. It is certainly not meant to be demolished by slogging away on some wretched series. As my Department Manager, said, ‘In the end, it’s just another television programme. If you were run over by a white van I would have to replace you.’

Had I let working in telly become my idol, my raison d’être? Alastair says if we let our jobs totally define us, it is of course gutting if they dissolve overnight. I have a horrid feeling that I’d let pride slip in too. I didn’t mean to boast, it’s so ugly, but when people at a drinks party ask you what you do, they never fail to be impressed when you say that you work in TV or the media. Pathetic isn’t it? The self-justification I think I held in place, was that it took so much hard work and determination to become a television director I felt I deserved to be able to say something for myself. None-the-less, like grotty old T-shirts, these vanities have to be flung out. I want God to be able to accept me, use me. Otherwise what’s this life all about?