Zechariah 12, Luke 3, Psalm 141 OR 4 Maccabees 9-10
So since it’s the last week of the challenge, and I’m a bit behind on the blogging anyway (although not too bad on the reading), I may get around to some comments on the scriptures this week, but I also want to reflect on the reading of scripture as a spiritual discipline in and of itself. In part, because I’m hoping that one or two people might be prepared to share their own testimony at Sunday’s celebration; but also just because.
The Bible is what brought me to the church. I was baptized at five or six months, although my parents called it “christening”, and I remember being in church at least once after that. I must have been very young, because I couldn’t read the hymns, but sang along at the top of my voice anyway, whichever nursery rhyme best fit the rhythm, standing on the pew. By contrast, I remember when the prayers were said I was told to be quiet and perfectly still – so much so that I asked my mother, in all seriousness, if I should hold my breath. She thought I was being cheeky, but I meant it.
Anyway, it was at school that I heard the stories and prayed the prayers that would lead me through life. I remember a series of assemblies when I was six or seven explaining the Lord’s Prayer line by line – what does “hallowed be thy name” mean to a child, or even an adult, without any kind of reflection?
When we moved from England to Wales in 1975, for me it was like entering the Twilight Zone. The only thing that stayed the same, from my real life, apart from Fudge the cat (which explains a lot), was the reading of Bible stories and the Lord’s Prayer that I heard during assembly time at school. They were my lifeline, my road back to reality. I remember clearly walking home form school one day considering, Where do you go to get more of these stories about God? Oh, I know: a church!
When my mother got home from work, I told her I wanted to go to church. I’ve been following the story ever since.
To be continued…
Epiphany's Bible Challenge 