2 Timothy 1.1-14, Luke 17.5-10
The Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity, 6 October 2019
Austwick, Clapham
“I am reminded of your faith,” wrote Paul to Timothy. “The faith that your grandmother and your mother before you had, and now lives in you.” This made me think - and I invite you to think, on this Harvest-morning - what did my grandparents teach me? What did I learn from my forebears?
What did I learn from my grandfather, that rough diamond, that man’s man, that one who used to boast that as a child he began many of his schooldays escaping back over the school wall and playing on the nearby beach instead. Once, when no-one else was around, he taught me how to make a roll-up cigarette in the way I’d seen him do so many times each day. But, on this Harvest-morning, I especially remember when he taught me how to hold a bird in my hand, and feed it. I never forget seeing how those large rugged workman’s hands could be so gentle and kind to another living creature. For Cyril was a homing pigeon enthusiast; he devoted himself to the care of the birds he kept in the pigeon loft which filled the back yard. He would never express in words just how much these creatures meant to him - but I learned it from his hands.
What did my other grandfather teach me, the one who died when I was only seven and who I remember mostly for visiting him upstairs in bed, aware that it was a condition stemming from injuries he sustained in RAF combat in the Second World War that was slowly killing him. But there at his bedside, with him often in obvious pain or discomfort, he taught me poems, he told me stories, he delighted me with tales and jokes. His love of words touched something deep in me - for I’ve always been a wordsmith too. But, on this Harvest-morning, I especially remember Alf in those earlier, healthier times of his life I can just about recall, when he was doing what he loved best - gardening. Doing what so many city dwellers do: turning their only, tiny, patch of land into a haven of beauty. He showed me how to weed and plant and prune. And without knowing it, he impressed on me how much he deeply cared for the plants and trees and flowers which were so much part of his modest life; and how much these things of the earth gave blessing back to him.
On this Harvest-morning - what did my grandparents teach me? What did I learn from my forebears? A sincere faith - it was there in the background of our family homes; but it was the two grandmothers who expressed it openly, who impressed on me the value of faith, who taught me the implications of faith, who showed me how I could live out that faith.
Gentle Jessie, whose kitchen door was always open to visitors and whose home was thus the hub of family life as we dropped by and met each other there day by day. She taught me the importance of always having the kettle on the go, ready to top up the teapot; the value, I guess you could say, of simple hospitality. But, on this Harvest-morning, reflecting on how faith and everyday life combine, I most remember how she closely guarded one particular half-hour each day - the half-hour when the radio broadcast The Daily Service. And when her door would be closed to visitors - as we each learned one by one - for she was then in reflection, she was then in prayer. She never made anything of this daily ritual, never spoke of it, and if someone did call in during that time, unwittingly interrupting her devotion, she would switch off the radio and pour them a cuppa; I imagine, with an almost imperceptible sigh. From her I learned the value of daily prayer, prayer as part of the everyday round of domestic life, prayer as the means to face the rest of the day with grace.
And then my Yorkshire grandmother, straight-talking, no-nonsense Edna whose roots were in Shipley in a family of cobblers and, once the family shoe shop closed, had worked in a shoe section of a department store. She whose committed weekly chapel-going must have helped her bear the trauma of Alf's decline and to rebuild her life after his untimely passing. On this Harvest-morning I especially remember that job she did for the church each year, with such care and devotion (never looking for any recognition, for her Jesus was the one from today’s gospel, who taught that faith is no privilege but requires hard work). She would spend months before Harvest collecting shoeboxes, and covering them with coloured paper - I remember her teaching me how to neatly wrap crepe paper around these boxes as I helped her from time to time. And then she would organise the filling of these boxes with the people’s Harvest gifts, and organise the people who would take out these boxes to the lonely, the sick and housebound. Every box had to be just right; and she made sure that every person who needed to know they were cared about, were included on her long list of recipients.
Today I’m struck by how she, the cobbler’s daughter, chose shoeboxes to best express her faith. When I was a bit older I spoke to her about the time and care and attention she gave to that Harvest-time task. It was the only time she ever explained her faith to me, so it sang in my ears then and I’ve held it in my heart ever since: “Well, if you’re doing something for God,” she said, “You do the best you can.”
It is good to think, on this Harvest-morning, on what our grandparents taught us, on what we learned from our forebears. For Harvest-time is part of the rhythm of our year, a discipline we keep, a time for giving thanks for all we’ve been given through the earth and its creatures and through our relations with all others in our everyday lives.
And so at Harvest-time we celebrate those steadfast women whose simple understated faith is so wrapped up in the way they live out the rhythm of their days. And today we celebrate those men, the stories in their mouths and the work of their hands signifying their hearts being open to the creatures and the crops and the good soil, and the human companions for whom they care.
The church leader Paul wanted the disciple Timothy to be encouraged - just as I want you to be encouraged, this Harvest-time, in how you are living out the way of faith. Let these words of Paul speak to you and me again:
“I am reminded of your faith, the faith of your grandmother and your mother before you, and which now lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you… for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.”
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