A Postcard from Peru

In recent times, Peru has been increasingly featured in foreign news items, as government agencies have issued warnings advising increased caution when travelling there, owing to rising crime levels and general unrest. It is a great shame that it should be so. Peru is a beautiful country with a fascinating culture and history, as I discovered at first hand when I had the good fortune to tour there some eighteen years ago. At the time, I wrote a poem, trying to encapsulate the varied and astonishing geography, culture, and economy I witnessed. The result was 'A Postcard from Peru', published in my first collection of poetry, A Journey with Time (Lulu, 2008):

A Postcard from Peru

High above the Colca Mountain ranges,
beneath the cloudless, blue, Andean skies,
in a land little transformed by changes,
the sacred condor flies.

Beneath the snow-capped mountains hid by haze,
observed by villagers in clothes quite gay,
llamas, vicunas and alpacas graze
and haunting pan-pipes play.

O’er the waters of Lake Titicaca,
on floating islands of totora reed,
the Uros people chew leaves of coca
and fish to herons feed.

Braving earth tremors in Arequipa,
well-sustained by Pisco Sours,
English tourists haggle to buy cheaper:
the dollar here empowers.

Via the catacombs of San Francisco,
a shaman of the Island of the Sun,
through cactus-strewn plains of the Altiplano,
travellers’ days are done.

Behold the Ice Maiden, Juanita;
the Garden of Lovers in Lima Bay;
the Orient Express is a feature:
rolling on – no delay.

The towering walls of Machu Picchu
instil with awe, inspire, expand the mind.
Support the local trade, we beseech you:
‘Just one sol – that’s most kind!’

From the ancient tombs of Sillustani,
down the pre-Inca terraced, rocky slopes,
to borders protected by the army,
Peru portrays its hopes.

© Copyright 2006 Robert M Jaggs-Fowler

The Value of Indolence

Following on from yesterday's post, I unearthed an entry from my journal, written in March 2010 at the time of my first reading Lawrence Durrell's Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. The following paragraphs are reproduced from it...

Cerebral Tai Chi

'Travel can be one of the most rewarding forms of introspection.'

So wrote Lawrence Durrell in his 1957 book, Bitter Lemons of Cyprus. He later described the necessary travelling companions in order to achieve this utopia; namely, loneliness and time, declaring them as 'those two companions without whom no journey can yield us anything'.

He was, of course, writing about his time in that wonderfully complex, Mediterranean retreat otherwise known as the Birth Place of Aphrodite. Indeed, it is where I am now writing, accompanied by a welcoming, though yet still cool, morning sun; its rays reflected by the expanse of yellow wild flowers and intensely luxuriant grasslands which rise behind my home here. The only sound is that of sparrows in a nearby carob tree, interspersed by the distant call of a wood-pigeon, and the soft mewing of a ginger cat, which has seated itself expectantly on the terrace outside my kitchen door, and which now stares back at me in the hope that I have something more exciting on offer than the occasional man-made 'meow' I return to it in the spirit of trans-cultural friendship.

Durrell is a writer I immediately warmed to. His work speaks of a man who understands the enormity of the mundane, the intrinsic value of indolence, the desirability of solitude, and the wealth of material residing just out of reach within the grey cells of one's mind, just waiting to be freed by the onset of some melancholically-induced cerebral exercise.

Cyprus is an island which allows for all of that. It is impossible to ignore the whispers from centuries past that filter through the rocks, like vapours through the pores of a living, yet antiquated, historical tome. 'Listen to me,' the land murmurs; 'listen and feel; listen and learn; listen and understand.'

So I listen, alone and unrushed. I allow the sounds of nature to filter through the labyrinth of neurones which somehow act as the repository of my thoughts; I let the rocky terraces speak to me of the island's origins and the tales of centuries past, laid down within it like seams of history, layer upon eventful layer, and I feel my mind tuning in to that same wavelength which endeared itself to Durrell, as it has to so many writers over the centuries. Yet, as I do so, my thoughts stretch, not just back down the monumental ages belonging to this island, but laterally across to the other side of the world, to the Caribbean Sea, where I sailed less than two months ago, and where, alone and with all the time in the world to muse, I cerebrally travelled back not just centuries, but through millennia, to the time of the world's earliest existence. It was a cathartic moment, and one which I tried to capture in a haiku, written whilst sailing:

Wave laps against wave:

wind's primeval voice echoes

from the start of time.

That, I believe, is precisely what Durrell understood could be achieved from travelling introspectively, with time and solitude as one's companions. It is achieved through bouts of unmoving contemplation; that splendid quality the Moslems know as kayf. It requires no more than the gentle stretching of the grey cells. However, the reward is immeasurable.

Bitter Lemons of Cyprus

Moments ago, I placed aside a book which left a lasting impression on my mind when I read it for the first time a few years back. I speak of Lawrence Durrell's book, Bitter Lemons of Cyprus.  

Written in 1957, the book relates Durrell's experience in Cyprus during the years 1953-56; a transition period between a soft, relatively untroubled Cyprus (if that is not a historical misnomer) and an island of great political upheaval and social unrest. Durrell captures the flavour of living in Cyprus with the detailed eye of a poet and artist. His story is truely bitter-sweet; revealing the hidden delights of Cyprus and its charming people, whilst also unpeeling the deep-seated angst of a trouble nation. It is a story that not only draws you in; it engulfs you until you share in the emotional turmoil. As a result, the final chapter will cause pain for the sensitive reader; and so it should. There are lessons for us all to learn from this chapter of history, and from the depth of human relations it portrays.

The book also reminded me of a personal pilgrimage I undertook a few years ago...

The island is still divided between a Greek southern Cyprus and a Turkish-controlled northern area, with a United Nations buffer zone in between. It is possible to visit both sides, albeit with various passport formalities. However, it is difficult to reproduce Durrell's enigmatic car journey from his village of Bellapaix, near Kyrenia, to Paphos, along the coastal road via Pano Pyrgos and Polis. Nonetheless, from the village I consider as my home in Cyprus - the hillside village of Pissouri - it is, possible to undertake a significant portion of the journey in reverse; a journey I once undertook, driving to Paphos and onward to Polis, with a detour to see Aphrodite's Bath, before continuing on along the north coast road to the border village of Pano Pyrgos.

The route is a beautiful one, taking in breath-taking views of coastal panoramas, set against the steep wooded rocks of the Troodos Mountains. That said, it is not for the faint-hearted, as most of the villages at this time of year (February/March) are devoid of activity, with nowhere for refreshment or refuelling. On top of which, there is the constant reminder of being close to a troubled border, with guard posts, small army camps, and abandoned damaged buildings scattered around the hills and valleys. Neither is there a quick way down. Having commenced the journey, one is left with a choice of driving back the same tortuous route, or traversing an even more tortuous route across the Troodos. (Drivers take note - a car with an automatic gearbox is a must. Mine was a manual gearbox and my left leg was very glad when the journey was over!). 

For all that, the long and arduous journey was worth every mile of effort. Unfortunately, time did not permit me to tackle the last portion of the journey to Bellapaix on that occasion. However, it was a priority for a later trip, when I took delight in exploring the much-exulted ruins of Bellapaix Abbey, as well as paying a visit to the house where Lawrence Durrell lived during the aforementioned years. 

Although some might consider such a pilgrimage a slightly foolish undertaking, there is no doubt in my own mind that experiencing at first hand some of the scenes described by Durrell in Bitter Lemons of Cyprus greatly assists one with understanding and reflection. Nonetheless, whether you undertake the actual journey, or simply have an interest in Cyprus and its history, I wholeheartedly recommend Durrell's book to you. I defy you not to take something personal from it.

Book Review: The Dying Keats: A Case for Euthanasia

The Dying Keats was written for the 20th Biennial Keats Memorial Lecture in 2009. 

With 50 years' experience caring for the elderly and dying, its author, Dr Brian Livesely, has successfully researched and crafted a succinct argument for improved medical care for the dying; drawing on the distressing death of the 19th century poet and apothecary, John Keats, in order to illustrate how doctors so often fail their dying patients. 

Keats died at a young age from tuberculosis. Denied drugs such as opium to ease his terminal suffering, he experienced distressing symptoms up to his death, causing him to describe his final days as 'this posthumous life of mine'. Livesley describes this as the 'Keatsonian Experience', and compares it to euthanasia in the truest sense of its meaning, that being, 'a good and comfortable death'. 

As the author points out, it is astonishing that today's care of the terminally ill is often little better than that experienced by Keats. Livesley believes this to be due to the reluctance of doctors to consider death as a diagnosis that requires treatment. He reminds us that 'dying should be a humane experience for us all'. 

It is a sobering and thought-provoking read, not only for clinicians, but for anyone contemplating their wishes for the tail-end of their life.

The Dying Keats: A Case for Euthanasia
Brian Livesley
Matador (2009)
ISBN: 978-1848761-711

A Writer's Prayer

As I restart this blog, I am reminded of 'A Writer's Prayer', written by me in 2008. It seems a good time for such a reminder, as it has already prompted me to delete two possible drafts for risking contravention of the last line of the prayer...

A Writer's Prayer 

Heavenly Father,

may the cloud of words,

which is omnipresent over my head,

with your blessing, pour down

as a shower upon me.

let it percolate through my brain and,

via the conduit of this pen,

reappear as sentences,

formed and erudite,

upon the paper in front of me.

May those sentences be the source of pleasure to many,

provoke thought in at least a few,

and be the cause of harm to no one.

Amen

 © Copyright 2024 Robert Jaggs-Fowler

A Poem for St Valentine's Day

Today is, of course, also Ash Wednesday, a day on which Christians traditionally repent, confess their sins, and renew their comitment to follow a life commensurate with that exemplified by the life of Jesus Christ. However, by a quirk of this year's calendar, Ash Wednesday coincides with Valentine's Day, a day celebrating love. Love is at the very heart of the Christian message, so what better way to observe Ash Wednesday than to also observe the value of human love? 

So, here is a poem dedicated to love. It was written some years ago, and is part of my second collection of poems called On Quarry Beach.

An Intermezzo for Love

Draw back the curtains of the night;                                                                                                              prolong the beauty of twilight.                                                                                                                      May the crimson skies once more show,                                                                                              reflected in the moon's soft glow,                                                                                                                  the softness of your features fair,                                                                                                            enhanced by joy, devoid of care.

And when, at last, the dark descends,                                                                                                        let love's embraces make amends                                                                                                                for all perceptions of neglect.                                                                                                                Then, let sleep come without regret,                                                                                                  bringing dreams devoid of sorrow;                                                                                                      recharging minds for tomorrow,

such that, when the dawn once more breaks,                                                                                                a new love for each other wakes;                                                                                                    empowering hearts to seize the day                                                                                                          and, all deeds done, once more to say:                                                                                                    draw back the curtains of the night;                                                                                                    prolong the beauty of twilight.    

(c) Copyright 2024 Robert Jaggs-Fowler                                                                                                                              

The Anthropic Principle & Seeing Through the Glass Darkly

The Late Professor Tony Hewish FRS made some fascinating statements about the Anthropic Principle. Essentially, he maintained that the universe was fine-tuned for the existence of life. To understand this, he asked us to think of a UCM (universe creating machine), on which are hundreds of dials to fine tune gravity, electromagnetism, etc. According to Hewish, if any of these knobs were slightly out of the precise setting, we would not exist. He maintained that even if the gravity’s dial was changed by a tiny fraction of a percent, enough to make you one billionth of a gram heavier or lighter on the bathroom scales, the universe becomes so different that there would be no stars, no galaxies, no planets – indeed, no life.

Tony Hewish won a Nobel Prize for astronomy. So, it seems that he does know something about such matters. He wrote that the setting of the UCM is comparable to getting the mix of flour and sugar right to one grain of sugar in a cake ten times the mass of the sun. Or the equivalent of getting a hole in one in golf, when the distance between the tee and the hole is thirteen times the distance between Earth and Pluto. Just think about that for a moment.

More and more, science is showing us that ‘something else’ was at work in creating the universe as we know it, and that it is not likely to have been a chance thing. The Late Professor John Polkinghorne, a theoretical physicist, theologian, and Anglican priest, believed that there is ‘a Mind’ involved, saying:

“As a scientist, what I’ve been saying is that the universe in its rational beauty and transparency, looks like a world shot through with signs of mind, and maybe, it’s a capital M – Mind of God that’s we are seeing. In other words, the reason within and the reason without fit together because they have a common origin in the reason of the Creator; who is the ground of all that is. An ancient verse in Genesis comes to mind, which says that humanity is made ‘in the image of God. I actually think that this is what’s makes science possible.”

In other words, we can only do science in the first place, because we think like God thinks. We are in God’s image.

Now, what if ‘God’ is the remnants of some ‘super intelligence’ formed billions of years ago, that needed to ensure its own survival by creating the conditions from which it would one day re-emerge and slowly evolve again? Slowly discover and understand all that was needed for it to become once again a super intelligent life form – a post-human race? The ideas of transhumanism and post-humanism become increasingly relevant if one thinks along those lines – and maybe we really do ultimately meet God – in the form of super-advanced life forms. We see God face to face, as we have already known for thousands of years – we see ourselves reflected as in a mirror – we see the God we know dwells in us.

And maybe that is why some people are called to be priests – because those people have a innate understanding that God is really with us now, buried deep inside our weak, earthly human forms, searching for the way to become whole and omniscient and omnipotent again. Maybe God is what really drives us forward, and makes some of us so agonised in our frail attempts to reach out and touch what we know instinctively is there within us, but have yet to acquire sufficient knowledge and understanding to truly grasp the enormity of what we are and what we shall be.

If that is so, it is not surprising that, as St Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 13.12), we see through the glass darkly at present, because to do otherwise could become an all-consuming torment.

Welcome (Back)!

Welcome to Musings of a Literary Doctor, a blog which is very much in keeping with its subtitle - the product of my periodic, eclectic, and sometimes (often?) eccentric cerebral meanderings, as I journey on life's ever-fascinating and varied path. 

As you will see, the blog has lain dormant for a few years. However, all previous posts dating back to 2006 are available in the archive. 

So, whilst you are waiting for me to finish honing my quills, do please venture into the recesses of yesteryear and harvest whatever takes your fancy.

See you soon! 

In Search of the Christian Voice

(First Published in 'Three Voices - One Message', the Parish Magazine of Barrow upon Humber, Goxhill and New Holland in North Lincolnshire, October 2018)

And so, we reach the month of October.

A month very much associated with the season of autumn, when the countryside takes on a mellow feel, as trees change into glorious hues of red, amber and yellow, before falling as a soft carpet beneath our feet. A month of reflection, as we look back on the events of a long summer; but also, a prophetic month: a month that warns us of the future, as it heralds the coming of winter.

As I write this foreword, I have just listened to a podcast from The Church Times. In the podcast an author, the Revd Nadim Nassar, was speaking about the background to his new book called ‘The Culture of God: The Syrian Jesus - reading the divine mind, sailing into the divine heart’. It promises to be an interesting book and I eagerly await the arrival of my copy. However, in the podcast, the author raised two questions in a most emphatic manner. In relation to the difficult issues besetting our world today, he asked, ‘where is the voice of the Church?’ and ‘where is our prophetic voice?’

The Revd Nassar’s challenge is a pertinent one for us all. As we look back to the many and various world events over the summer, where indeed was the voice of the Church? Was it there at the forefront of our political, social, military and humanitarian responses to these events, leading and challenging with a loud and clear message? Or was it muted or, worse, nowhere to be found?

And what of the months beyond October, as we move towards those times that bring increasing debt, food shortages, fuel poverty, and loneliness for many people, a time of winter pressures for the NHS, and a new year in which the UK will leave the European Union and try to stand alone in the world? Where indeed is the prophetic voice of our Church, as a strong guiding light amidst all this change and potential turmoil?

In the life of the Church, October sees us commemorate several important historic people, who might act as mentors, guides and role models, should we ever need more than the life and actions of Jesus himself! Amongst them, George Bell, Bishop of Chichester, who is recognised for speaking out against Nazi Germany and saving Jews fleeing the regime; St Francis of Assisi, the founder of the Society of St Francis (‘the Franciscans’); William Tyndale, who translated the Bible into English and was martyred for his trouble; the nun, Teresa of Avila, an author and theologian of contemplative life through mental prayer; Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch, whose important writings place him amongst the Apostolic Fathers; St Luke the Evangelist; that learned, wise and gracious man, Alfred the Great;  and not least of all, Martin Luther, who stood up to the theological irregularities of the Catholic church. All these spoke with a voice written through with their Christian faith, and they were not afraid to speak prophetically.   

So, as we move through this month of reflection, change and prediction, where do you feel the voice of the Church is today? Where is the Church’s prophetic voice?

Most importantly, where is your voice as a Christian?

May Musings

(First Published in 'Three Voices - One Message', the Parish Magazine of Barrow upon Humber, Goxhill and New Holland in North Lincolnshire, May 2018)

“At last came the golden month of the wild folk - honey-sweet May, when the birds come back, and the flowers come out, and the air is full of the sunrise scents and songs of the dawning year;” so

writes the early 19^th century author, Samuel Scoville Jr. in his classic novel, Wild Folk.

Your own idea of May might be something along similar lines. The month means many things to many people. For our pagan forebears, it was associated with the Greek goddess, Maia, a goddess of fertility. For many, it will simply be the delight of having two Bank Holiday Mondays to look forward to. For others, it will be the idea of a Royal Wedding that offers excitement.

Of course, within the Christian Church, we have many exciting things to anticipate. In the Roman Catholic Church, it is a month of celebrations in respect to the Virgin Mary, when she is crowned ‘Queen of May’. For Anglicans, May is a month that is dominated by the Spirit (naturally of the Holy kind). The first few weeks of May are the final weeks of Easter, with the 50^th day of Easter, the 7^th Sunday after Easter, falling on the 20^th May. This day is also known as Pentecost; the day we commemorate the descent of the Holy Spirit on the Disciples after the ascension of Jesus into Heaven.

One week later, we have Trinity Sunday (27^th May); the day we celebrate the Doctrine of the Holy Trinity – God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, that also being the day when clergy traditionally compete for the unbridled joy of trying to give a concise, unambiguous and heretically-free explanation of the doctrine from the pulpit. I suspect that my time will come…

Then, after Trinity Sunday, we enter a long period of Ordinary Time; that period in the Church calendar when we do not celebrate any particular aspect of the mystery of Christ, but when we are left ample time to ponder that mystery in all its glory, and to deepen our faith through prayer, worship, study and meditation.

Whether it be the sense of Spring vitality, national holidays, a Royal wedding, the wonder of the Holy Spirit and the Holy Trinity, or the contemplative freedom of Ordinary Time that gives a lift to you, may your month of May at least be a Blessed one.

Sermon: Sunday 29th April 2018 - All Saints, Goxhill and Holy Trinity, Barrow on Humber

Texts: Acts 8.26-40

          John 15.1-8

----------------------------------------------------

Opening Prayer

May I speak in the name of God: The Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Amen

‘Do you understand what you are reading?’

Those were the first, somewhat loaded words spoken by Philip to the Ethiopian when they met on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza.

‘Do you understand what you are reading?’

*

The words reminded me of another short but heavily loaded question thrown at one of my senior officers in the early years of my military career. My Field Ambulance was partaking in war-games somewhere in the wilds of North Yorkshire, and our vehicles had trundled into location overnight, in the midst of a heavy fog. The following morning saw the arrival of a very irate Brigadier, who summoned my Officer Commanding with the words:

 ‘Major McGarva – Do you know where you are?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ came the defiant reply. ‘I am here, Sir’.

Defiant they may have been, but in truth, we were lost. In fact, we were in front of the enemy lines– which is never a good place for a medical unit to be. We did not understand what the map was telling us; had no idea how we had arrived there, did not fully appreciate where we were, and had no idea as to how we were going to complete our mission. 

*

‘Do you understand what you are reading?’

Philip’s question to the Ethiopian also reminds me of another phrase that has captured the inquisitive nature of, quite possibly, millions of television viewers: ‘Who do you think you are?’ is the name of the programme, where celebrities are helped in the attempt to uncover the past history of their family.

It is human nature for us, at some stage of our lives, to ask questions of our past – where have we come from? Who were our ancestors? How did we get to the place we now find ourselves? They are the questions that websites such as Ancestry.com help us to answer, and in so doing, give us a greater understanding of our identity and our place in the world today – they help us to know who we are, and where we are, in the great timeline of life.

*

‘Do you understand what you are reading?’

Of course, the Ethiopian didn’t realise the enormity of what he was reading before Philip arrived on the scene. He didn’t realise that, by reading the portion from the book of Isaiah, from what we now call the Old Testament, he was reading something that predicted the arrival of God in the form of Jesus Christ, and of his subsequent crucifixion.

In effect, it was somewhat akin to reading an historic document within the family archive of Jesus’ ancestors, that spoke of a generation yet to come.

For that is what the Old Testament is to us, as Christians. It is our collective family history as Christians, our Biblical equivalent of Ancestry.com. It informs us of our past; it tells us who our collective ancestors were before the birth of Jesus Christ; it helps us to understand the enormity of who Jesus Christ was and is; it helps us to understand who we are as Christians, and how we arrived at this place today; and it helps us to understand our mission from here on…

For the Old Testament helps us to fully understand the New Testament, and the New Testament provides us with our tasks as Christians in the 21^st century. By reading both the Old Testament and the New Testament, we understand with greater clarity the answers to those questions as to Who are we? Where are we? What should we be doing? and Where are we going?

*

‘Do you understand what you are reading?’

Philip’s question to the Ethiopian is just as pertinent to us today, as we read the Gospel of St John.

Here, we are introduced to the concept of the vine and its branches. We are told that Jesus is the true vine, that God is the vine-grower, and that we are branches of that vine. The passage continues to speak of pruning and cleansing – of our cleansing - and of bearing fruit – and in truth, it may all seem a little puzzling at first glance.That is, unless we remember words from the Old Testament. It is another case of ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’

For the Old Testament tells us that Israel was first likened to a vine, and that the 12 tribes of Israel were its branches. However, that vine contained a lot of dead or diseased wood and proved not to be as fruitful as God desired it to be.

With the incarnation of God in the form of Jesus Christ, God the vine-grower was starting again. Jesus brought us a new covenant, a new promise -  doing away with the old promises made between God and Israel (the old vine). As part of that covenant, Jesus became the new vine – a strong and healthy vine, with the ability to grow and spread far and wide. Those who abided in Jesus – those who stood with Jesus – became the metaphorical branches - the healthy new branches - of the new vine that was, and is, Jesus.

And as any gardener might tell you, for a vine to grow luxuriantly, and to have strong new branches, it needs to be pruned - or cleansed - of its dead-wood. In John’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that we have already been cleansed.

But how would that be so?

Well, the story of the Ethiopian reminds us as to how we are cleansed. Once the Ethiopian had heard from Philip the Good News of the life of Jesus Christ, what did he do? He stopped his chariot by some water and asked Philip to baptize him.

Baptism is an act of cleansing. By our baptism, we are cleansed of our sin, and we are thus at one with the body of Jesus Christ; we abide in Jesus; we become a healthy branch of the new vine that is Jesus Christ. For the Greek word for cleaning and pruning is from the same origin, and when the Gospel of John refers to us as ‘pruned branches’, he is referring to our baptism.

*

But I say again, that question of Philip’s to the Ethiopian:

Do you understand what you are reading?’

For, having understood that the ‘old vine’ of Israel was failing so badly in God’s eyes, so that God became incarnate – became alive - in the form of  Jesus Christ, and that Jesus is the metaphorical, the symbolic, new vine – the ‘new Israel’ - replacing the old vine that was the Israel of the Old Testament -  and that we by our baptism have been cleansed – or, to continue with the metaphor, are the pruned branches of that new vine that is Jesus Christ – having understood all of that, we then have to understand what it means for us ‘to bear much fruit’.

For that is what John tells us that we are expected to do - ‘bear much fruit’ and ‘become his disciples’; become the disciples of Jesus Christ.

So, what exactly is this fruit we are expected to bear as we abide in, or stand with, Jesus?

It means that we are expected to act; to make his words and our beliefs meaningful in kind; not to simply pay lip-service to his commands, perhaps once a week in church on a Sunday. We are expected to fulfil God’s mission – to tell others of the hope and love that is the Good News of Jesus; to baptise new believers; to provide care and compassion to those who are ill; and to make new disciples – new followers, supporters, helpers - who will assist us in the work of God.

….that is where we are supposed to be going as we leave this building today – that is what we are supposed to be doing next – today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, for the rest of our lives – that is our mission – that is the mission set for us by Jesus – that is God’s mission.

And we know the vast importance of that task – that monumental task – the task set by virtue of our baptism – that act which made us cleansed and pruned, healthy branches of the vibrant vine that is Jesus Christ – by all of that, we know the vast importance of our task that will glorify God, and, in so doing, also bring into our own lives, and the lives of those around us, that which we need to be human – we know all of that, and we will receive all of that, once we truly understand who we are as Christians, where we have come from, where we are now, and how we fit into that huge map that is comprised of the Old and New Testaments, which in turn gives us our mission for today…

We know all of that with great clarity, once we can answer ‘yes’ - ‘yes, we do’ - to Philip’s question.

May God open our eyes and our ears, our minds and our hearts, so that we can truly understand what we are reading.

Amen.