• Christmas Day 2014 – Sermon

    Come with me to Bethlehem. Come and see the babe in the manger. Come and worship and adore the Lord of Heaven and Earth with the shepherds at the manger.

    But don’t come with me to Bethlehem of Judea. Not yet anyway.

    Come with me instead in your mind to the city of Venice where I had part of my main holiday this year.

    I stepped off the train and walked out of the station and gasped at the scene in front of me. The grand canale, the vaporetto water busses. The astonishing modern Canalettoesque scene. A city completely without roads and cars.

    And I quickly got used to it and started to enjoy finding my way about down the little alleys and along the byways along the canals.

    Now, some of you will have been to Venice yourself. You’ll know that walking about can be a bit of a struggle.

    It is crowded and busy. The pathways are narrow and crowded. And it is insanely pretty so you just want to stop and gaze at everything.

    And everyone is feeling the heat and everyone needs to pause for breath sometimes.

    And one of the hazards are the bridges that you have to use to get over the canels. Every hundred and fifty yards or so you go up steps and over the bridge and down steps.

    And that adds to the weariness.

    And this year there is an added hazard on the bridges of Venice. Not just people sitting on their suitcases having an ice-cream and getting in everyone’s way. Not just people stopping to admire the view. No, there’s something new.

    Someone has come up with one of those bright ideas which seems like such a good idea until you see it in practise.

    Someone has come up with a pole a couple of feet long, upon which you can mount your phone or camera to allow you to take photographs of yourself with a background view behind you.

    And there’s nothing so pretty as the Venetian canals and so people stand on those bridges waving these dangerous sticks about trying to get the perfect picture of themselves, a canal and the whole of St Mark’s Basilica in the frame of a small smartphone.

    Yes – this is the year of the selfie and tourist spots like Venice are falling victim to the selfie pole menace. For sometimes you could barely get across a bridge without being poked or prodded by one of these infernal poles.

    Well, Venice is lovely. I completely fell in love with it. But oh, it can hard work.

    And so it was one day I found myself going along the alleyways in the heat, up and down the bridges and through the crowds. And I was hot and tired. And I needed a rest.

    Well the only thing to do in Venice when you need a rest is to slip into a church. Cool marble and shade from the sun was what I needed and so I pushed open the door of one of the many churches and found my way inside.

    And immediately I realised that I was in one of the churches that has significant pieces of art. I was hot and bothered so I don’t remember whether it was a San Maggiore or a San Benedissimus or what it was. And I’d seen so much art that I’d long since stopped being able to remember which was a Giotto and which was a Tintoretto.

    But I knew what was featured in the large painting in this particular church. It was at once completely familiar.

    The adoration of the shepherds in Bethlehem.

    Instantly recognisable. Somehow the image of the poor shepherds worshipping at the manger had appealed to some Venetian dignitary with enough money to commission art big enough to fill a wall.

    And in the picture were the holy family – Joseph, Mary and the babe.

    And in front of the picture, with their backs turned away, looking towards me was another family. Guiseppe, Maria and a rather hot and bothered babe.

    And the parents stood there in front of the great piece of art smiling.

    The family stood there grinning but with their backs to the great painting.

    For as they stood, the father was holding one of those selfie poles to ensure that they could get a picture of what mattered to them that day.

    There they were. This modern hot and bothered family putting themselves into the scene with the holy and beloved family. Putting themselves into Bethlehem.

    Come with me to Bethlehem.

    Come with me to Bethlehem and put yourself in the scene.

    For if the shepherds are invited then so are you.

    The invitation to the shepherds are a clue that God was setting up an open, inclusive and welcoming stable.

    For shepherds were not smart but scruffy. They were not respectable but rapscallions. They were not gentry but general riff raff.

    But the word came to the shepherds that something was going on. God had come into their neck of the woods and they had better pick themselves up and rush down and see what it was all about. The invitation to the shepherds implies that anyone is welcome.

    Come with me to Bethlehem and put yourself into the scene. For you are invited too.

    You are invited to know that God has come into your world.

    You are invited to know that God has come close to you.

    You are invited to know that God is near to you.

    And in Glasgow this week we need to know that God is near us, that God loves us and that God is right beside us – no matter what.

    All those selfie photographs in Venice and no doubt every other tourist spot speak of the desire to put ourselves into the picture.

    But we are already made in the image and likeness of God.

    A God who chose to put his own self into the picture; who opted to enter into our frame of reference.

    God came into the world long ago so that I could tell you right now that God is here in this city today.

    For the word of God in scripture, for the word of God in Glasgow, for the word of God within us.

    Thanks be to God.

7 responses to “Reclaiming the web”

  1. Paul Hutchinson Avatar
    Paul Hutchinson

    Thank you for making me think in a different direction just before pausing for lunch. I have never had a blog, so came quite late to Internet social discourse, and have engaged more since joining one major network in 2010 and another in early 2014 – normally using those networks rather than a comment box such as this. Not all of us are natural creators of substantial original content, but like to be thoughtful in brief exchange, and so both those major networks, though cursed with many difficulties, serve those brief exchanges quite well. I do agree that the endless recycling of links (on both of them) can be wearying, and I do wish that some old friends would be a little more self-critical. But the price of any kind of social discourse is that one is vulnerable to the otherness of the other.
    I feel I ought to be writing a more substantial comment here, but hope that this is enough. The time is not always there to offer deeper reflection: but sometimes a blogger needs to hear at least a small splash from the stone thrown down the well!

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      Thanks for the comment, Paul. I’m aware that not everyone is a content creator, but perhaps what I miss is the sense of discovering different communities online and keeping the comments more or less in one place helps with that.

      The glory days of 50 or more comments on a post are probably over. I suspect I mourn the sense of community being created even more than I miss the interesting reflections of others. Retweets and shares are always welcome – but they are the means of amplification. Becoming loud isn’t the same as becoming wise, nor the same as becoming connected.

  2. Seph Avatar
    Seph

    It’s a damnable shame—and mostly the fault of Facebook. Twitter at least has an etiquette of sorts, wherein it is considered impolite not to respond to the original tweet, which is usually made by the blogger in question.

    Facebook, in short, is the scourge of the Internet. I have often been in groups which have decided to do all of their organizing on Facebook, despite my protests that I’m not on Facebook and don’t want to be, and really an e-mail list would be just as easy, and would they like me to set one up. This inevitably leads to my marginalization within the group, as no-one bothers to keep me abreast of the discussions to which I am not party.

    Can you tell I’m upset about this?

  3. Daniel Lamont Avatar
    Daniel Lamont

    I am only an occasional user of Facebook but I know what you mean, Kelvin. And indeed, I never read the comments ‘below the line’ on newspapers like ‘The Guardian’. You offer some useful advice. I read yours and one or two other blogs on a regular basis but don’t always comment. However, I can see that the author of a blog would like some feedback. I would be sad not to have the blogs that I do read because they do give me a sense of what people are thinking and an odd sense of community.

  4. Father Ron Smith Avatar
    Father Ron Smith

    My own contribution to the blogopshere is, I’m afraid, Father Kelvin, limited to comments I make on other people’s blogs (such as ‘Thinking Anglicans’ and ‘Anglican Down Under’ – a local NZ forum; plus my own blog ‘kiwianglo’, where i pluck articles that interest me personally from the web and provide my own commentary. This still interests me, personally, and provides my few readers with information they might not otherwise be bothered to glean for themselves. Like you, I am no longer an avid Facebook fan.

  5. David Campbell Avatar

    Hi Kelvin – thoughtful as ever – and yours is invariably the first blog I turn to each day. That you bring pressing issues to a wider audience and to people who know, or used to know, the church you serve is a great thing. I’m still blogging relatively strongly, but it’s certainly a different blogging experience when work is set in a very different context and especially community from previously, writing these days mainly for myself about things that interest me, although not quite at the address you have in your Blog Roll. http://www.limpingtowardsthesunrise.com is where it’s “all” happening.

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      Thanks David – nice to hear from you. I’ve amended the link.

      I don’t think many people use blogrolls to find blogs these days but whenever I remove it my mother complains…

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