Still Quarrying: Monday Memory.

 My treatment schedule has me at the Beatson for chemotherapy for three consecutive weeks, then a week’s break before it starts over again.  Each session can be for around two and a half hours but sometimes longer.   A lot depends on how busy the staff are or how soon the chemotherapy is sent up from the Pharmacy.   Usually, it doesn’t matter too much.  As long as I have a book I’m fine.  And the nurses pop in from time to time to see how things are and sometimes just for a chat.  Last Monday I was discussing tattoos with one.  

 

Round about 10. 30 am a lady or gent from the Beatson Charity will come round with tea, coffee and biscuits.  They are always welcome in their bright, yellow t-shirts and eagerness to serve.  Those I have got to know have had relatives who were treated at the Beatson, and this voluntary work is a gesture of thanks.  Having had my daily rocket fuel, ie. espresso, I usually have tea and can be persuaded to have a biscuit.  Not that I needed much persuasion last Monday because there on top of the biscuit tray was a Waggon Wheel!  That kick-started a memory.  My first day at school.  My play piece was a Waggon Wheel.  The lady smiled indulgently when I imparted this vital information.  I suppose she is used to old guys and their memories.  

 

It made me think of the power of physical objects to take you to another place, another time, a life-changing event.  Jesus understood that when on his final night on earth and surrounded by his friends He took a piece of bread and when He had given thanks said: ‘This is my body which is for you.  Do this in memory of me.’.’  And later He took a cup of wine and said: ‘This cup is God’s new covenant sealed in my blood.  Whenever you drink it do so in memory of me.’  

 

The significance of the bread and wine was changed.  No longer the food and drink of every day, so familiar to the disciples.  In future, the breaking of bread and the sharing of wine would be an opening up to Jesus, all that He was, all that He gave for them, all that He promised them in this life and the next.  They would never have understood  the Lord’s Supper as ‘just a memorial’.   The Holy Spirit was present as real as the bread and wine they touched and tasted.  And as they touched and tasted they renewed their relationship with Jesus, received anew His promises to them, and were encouraged by the assurance of their future place in His Kingdom.  All of this refreshing their inner being, strengthening faith, and renewing hope.  

 

It is almost a year now since I led a congregation in a celebration of the Lord’s Supper.  It is one of the many things I miss.  It could be quite overwhelming to think that in doing this we are connecting with generations of Christians going back to Jesus Himself.  The one act of worship that He has commanded us to do.  I sit in a pew now to receive the bread and wine and Covid has changed the way we do this.  But as long as the bread and wine are there Jesus and His promises are present and there is nothing better to provide ‘strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.’  

 

Lord Jesus,

 

As physical objects unlock the past, enrich the present, and bring hope for the future,

May the Lord’s Supper be a continuing source of grace as we seek to be faithful witnesses to your love.  Amen.  

Still Quarrying: George Alagiah.

 During my personal cancer experience there have been many people who have been an encouragement and an inspiration.   Those I have been privileged to support through their own cancer experience and others I have never met but have got to know through my reading and listening to media broadcasts, chief among the latter was George Alagiah.  Diagnosed with stage 4 bowel cancer in 2014, and later having to deal with the Coronavirus during the pandemic, he was possessed of a cheerful optimism and carried on with his work, when able, with warmth and empathy.  

 

It was said of a well-known presenter lately that despite his popularity he couldn’t read an auto-cue.  That could never be said of George.  He seemed to reach out from the screen and not only touched us but gave us to believe that we were touching him.   He knew humanity’s problems; he was shaken by humanitarian crises; and as he engaged with various horrendous circumstances as a Foreign Correspondent you had the impression that he felt called to respond.   His journalist friend Allan Little said in his recent tribute that in George people saw ‘the outstretched hand of a shared humanity and a solidarity.’ 

 

In all his interviews about his cancer experience I found so much to relate to.  He spoke of finding something positive in his illness, of becoming more empathetic to others in their troubles, of the necessity of finding ‘a place of contentment’, of being grateful for what he had experienced in the past and what he had in the present, and of focussing on what might be in the future.  God has not been mentioned.  But I thank God for the gift of his life and how he lived his dying.