Sermon for Second Sunday of Easter: John 20:19-31 Thomas

Sermon for Second Sunday of Easter: John 20:19-31   Thomas

¹⁹ When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. ²¹Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ ²²When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. ²³If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’

²⁴ But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. ²⁵So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’

²⁶ A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ ²⁷Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ ²⁸Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’ ²⁹Jesus said to him, ‘Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’

³⁰ Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. ³¹But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.  [NRSV]

Writing or making a sequel can be tricky. In the record industry they talk about the “difficult second album” where an artist has had a very successful debut album, using all their best material from before they were signed up. They then have to produce a follow-up, and unless they are particularly talented, it can be a challenge. Tapestry by Carole King is the best example I can think of as an exception to the rule.

The same can be true of movies, although again there are some that break the pattern, especially when it’s clear there was a plan to make a whole series. Some of the later Harry Potter films are better than the first one, for example, and some critics regard the Empire Strikes Back as the best of the original Star Wars trilogy.

This all came to me as I read our Gospel reading for today from John. Last week we had an extraordinarily dramatic scene. Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb, filled with grief, and finds to her horror that the stone sealing the tomb has been rolled away. She summons help, and Peter and John discover that the tomb is empty. Mary is then left on her own, encountering a stranger who knows her name, who she assumes to be the gardener. Then there’s the big “reveal”. Mary has in fact met Jesus, risen from the dead, and he’s talking to her first out of all of his friends. The scene ends with her unable to cling on to him; instead she follows Jesus request to go and find the disciples and tell them what has happened.

It’s interesting to see how the other Gospel writers deal with the problem of bringing the story to a close. As we have it, Mark leaves us with a cliff-hanger – the tomb is empty and that’s it (the oldest manuscripts don’t go beyond verse 8) Matthew and Luke take us through appearances of Jesus to the episode we call the Ascension – the final farewell to Jesus in bodily form on earth.

John gives us a sequel to the Easter account here in the passage for today, and there is a further sequel in chapter 21 (many believe it was written by someone else as verses 30 and 31 of today’s passage read like a conclusion). Now whenever you read anything from the Bible, a good question to ask is why is this here. Why was this incident or episode included in the overall narrative. Put bluntly, why did John think it necessary give us the story of Thomas? What’s the message of this story?

First let’s remind ourselves of the background we have on Thomas. He’s described as a twin, but we don’t know the name of his twin. Thomas is in the lists of disciples in Matthew Mark and Luke. We also know he’s with the disciples meeting after Jesus has ascended in the first chapter of Acts.

Uniquely in John, we actually hear from Thomas on 3 occasions. The first is just before Jesus and his disciples set off to Mary, Martha and Lazarus.

Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him. (John 11:16)

I’ve often wondered how exactly we are meant to read that. Is Thomas just a bit of a miserable sort, or is he a bit cynical. Perhaps he’s just saying what everyone is thinking. After all, Lazarus has died young, which may have been due to a communicable disease, so going straight there could expose them all to infection. It all sounds strangely familiar in this present context. Whatever the tone of his voice, Thomas is clearly someone who will speak up.

The second occasion is in John 14 when Jesus is speaking to his disciples and trying to get across to them the explanation and meaning to his predictions of death and resurrection. To illustrate this, Jesus talks about his death as a journey.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (John 14:3-5)

Perhaps we have a hint here that Thomas likes things literal and concrete. It’s no good Jesus talking symbolically about death being a journey to a place he has prepared, Thomas wants to know where it is, and what the route is. Whether he found Jesus’ answer of “I am the way, the truth and the life” satisfactory, we are not told. That suggests that what we know of the background on Thomas points to him liking things concrete and clear, and he’s quite a realist.

So, it’s not entirely surprising that he is the one who features in this resurrection story – the sequel to last week. However, in doing so he adds a new dimension to the story; this is not just a repeat of last week.

First of all, Jesus appears to his followers in their hideaway. The doors are locked, and they are afraid. John says they are afraid of “the Jews”, but we have to remember that Jesus and all of the disciples are also Jews. From this, it is clear that John uses the term to describe the religious authorities, and not to mean all Jewish people. This is an important distinction to make, as it has sometimes been used to fuel anti-Semitism. Here Jesus appears to the disciples and shows them his wounds, and they are delighted.

I think we are to conclude that John wants to confirm Mary Magdalene’s story. Her testimony would have been suspect for some people, but John narrates the story in a way that shows that her report to the disciples that we heard last week is entirely reliable. We usually think of Luke’s gospel as the one that values women, but here John affirms Mary in a very significant way.

However, Thomas wasn’t there. Whether it was overwhelming grief, or fear of being caught, or just that he found being back with his family more comforting we are not told. Whatever the reason, he missed this vital encounter, and so a week later Mary and 10 disciples have experienced something he hasn’t. Thomas’ response is the classic one of a practical, concrete, empirical sceptic. Unless I see… The evidence he wants is not testimony or reports, he wants to see Jesus for himself, see the scars, touch the wounds.

However, he is sufficiently curious to be with the disciples the following week, and this time he is offered exactly what he asked for by Jesus. The only response that John records is an extraordinary one. Thomas makes a declaration of faith that goes way beyond anything any of the other disciples have come out with. He says to Jesus “My Lord and my God.” That statement is a remarkable departure from what the disciples would have been brought up to believe in a Jewish community.

John is narrating to us a moment of revelation. Back in chapter 1 he describes Jesus as the Word made flesh. Here Thomas calls Jesus Lord and God, and then John in his original conclusion says that he wrote the gospel to persuade us that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God. In that sense everything he has recorded in the rest of his gospel account is the explanation and justification for these statements which act as kind of bookends.

Thomas is often described as doubting Thomas, and that is the English word used in this translation. A more literal translation would be “stop unbelieving and believe”. It’s almost as if Thomas is being presented to us as an example of what putting faith in Jesus looks like. And to confirm that, it’s almost as if the last part of what Jesus says is directed at us, rather than Thomas. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (v.29)

The story of Thomas is indeed a great sequel, as it takes the story to new depths and new levels, and we can see why John thought it was important to include:

• It affirms the witness and testimony of Mary, even though many might have felt they had reason to doubt her.
• It shows the first real declaration of faith in Jesus as we understand him – the Son of God – God with us.
• It emphasises that we, who don’t have the opportunity of meeting Jesus in bodily form, are blessed even though we have not had the privilege of that experience. John connects what has taken place with where we are now.

As sequels go, today’s reading is a pretty special one. John doesn’t just report events that have taken place, he makes the connection with whoever may be reading in whatever age, asking us whether we follow Jesus and whether we believe, and reassuring us that if we do, we are as blessed as the disciples.

Sermon for Lent 5: The Raising of Lazarus

Sermon for Lent 5 2020                The Raising of Lazarus    John 11:1-44

At first sight, the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead is a straightforward hero to the rescue story. Just like in lots of other tales of people with magic powers, Jesus arrives at a situation that is beyond the capacity of ordinary human beings to change, transforms it, and everyone lives happily ever after. Powerful, inspiring, encouraging… or is it?

The more I read the story, the more I find myself struggling with difficult questions:

• Did it really happen? There’s a lot of symbolism in John’s gospel, so should we see this as representing any actual event at all?
• If Jesus can do this, why didn’t he do it more often? What’s special about Lazarus?
• Why didn’t Jesus get there before he died?
• What are we to take away from a story that is at such a remove from anything we are likely to encounter? Or to put it another way, why did John include it in his Gospel as one of the “signs” that Jesus did?

Answering all of those in order would end up sounding more like an essay on John’s gospel than a sermon, but I’ll try and share some of my own ways of dealing with these as we go along.

First of all, it’s worth getting the scene straight in our minds, in order to understand what’s going on. This all takes place about half-way through John’s gospel, so that should give us a signal. Jesus is already under threat of arrest (John 10:39) and he and the disciples have taken refuge ‘across the Jordan’. The result of this episode is that the authorities plan for Jesus to be executed (11:53). Jesus makes a second visit to Bethany shortly after this in chapter 12, and then goes on to enter Jerusalem on a donkey, which we will be marking next week on Palm Sunday.

So, in John’s gospel this is a turning point, even though it is an event not recorded in the other gospels. [Martha and Mary appear in Luke, with the famous scene of Mary listening to Jesus and Martha doing the catering (Luke 10:38-42). Lazarus is only mentioned here, although Jesus uses the name in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31)]

And it is true that John likes to bring out the symbolism in events and locations, but that doesn’t mean we should dismiss his ability to record history. Around the end of the nineteenth century, his gospel was seen by many academics as being written long after Jesus’ earthly ministry, and they thought that John created a lot of the detail. Then archaeologists discovered the pool of Bethesda from John 5, and since then his historical information has been taken more seriously.

Whatever we think actually happened with Lazarus in this story, there is good reason to think that John believed he was recording events that occurred, as well as highlighting their meaning.

Now, if you heard that a close friend was seriously ill, you would get in contact with them or a relative. Maybe you’d try and phone, or perhaps send a card. Before the days of covid-19, you would probably want to visit, and the restrictions we are now under are placing a lot of strain on people who want to be close to critically ill loved-ones. It’s a natural instinct to want to be there.

If your visit could have a positive impact on someone’s recovery, you would make that visit a top priority, unless there were very good reasons to stop you. Why didn’t Jesus go when he heard the news? It doesn’t make any sense at first reading, unless you believe that poor old Lazarus had to die to serve the purpose of being a visual aid for Jesus.

In the sequence John gives us, Jesus only shares the news of Lazarus’ illness with his followers in verse 11, so the message came privately and he kept the news to himself. His stay for 2 days in the place where he was is described as being out his love for his 3 friends. I go with Tom Wright’s comments on this - that Jesus chooses to stay where he was (v.6) because he needed time to pray, to think and to wrestle with this terrible choice between two unpleasant outcomes. We know from the rest of the story that going to Bethany would set off events that lead to the crucifixion. The choice was to let his friend die, or endanger 12 disciples and himself.

All of us feel conflicted sometimes, but they seem very acute for Jesus. We see that in the Garden of Gethsemane when he is in anguish about whether to go through with things at all or run away. However we understand the idea of Jesus being human and divine, the gospels record deep struggles of conscience, and this needed time for prayer. And I find that strangely reassuring. It wasn’t all easy for Jesus, so that means he gets it when it’s not all easy for us. Jesus isn’t an alien being trying to be human, he is human and so somehow in the mystery of who God is, there is understanding for the difficult predicaments we get ourselves into.

Then Jesus decides: they’re going to Judea – to Bethany. The disciples clearly know the risks, and Thomas states it bluntly “let us also go, that we may die with him”. Whether it’s a statement of resignation and despair, or loyalty and commitment is hard to know, but Thomas seems to know the risks. Jesus knows them too, and he knows that confronting death at Lazarus’ tomb will be only a foretaste on the confrontation to come.

Then Jesus arrives, and Martha meets him outside the house. If we were Martha, I suspect we wouldn’t be able to control ourselves – who wouldn’t? “If you had been here, he’d be alive” is a brutal accusation. The Bible is full of people being honest and blunt with God about their feelings – just read a few psalms to see their despair, their needs and their fears. God wants honesty far more than he desires politeness, and Martha demonstrates this perfectly to us.

Notice that Jesus doesn’t rebuke Martha for speaking so boldly. Although their conversation reveals that Martha believes in resurrection one day – as many Jews did by the time of Jesus – that’s not what she wants at this moment. She wants Lazarus alive and well, as did her sister Mary, who restates Martha’s point. We know from Luke of her devotion to Jesus, and it seems to connect. John describes Jesus as deeply moved. In the 16^th century, when the Bible was given chapters and verses (they’re not in the original texts), it gave us the shortest verse in English bibles, John 11:35, “Jesus wept”. Just before the story moves on to what we call the passion, we see Jesus’ emotional state, as he sees the sisters and others there who were grieving, and he felt it too for his friends.

The next part of the scene prefigures Easter in a number of ways – a tomb made out of a cave, a stone needing to be rolled away, and linen strips binding the body. The body has been there 4 days (which some rabbis taught 4 days was the time needed to be sure someone was dead) and Martha, ever the practical one, warns against the smell. But the stone is rolled away, we hear of no smell, and Lazarus is summoned out. Lazarus emerges alive, still wrapped up in his grave clothes. Significantly, Jesus says “Unbind him, and let him go”. In other words, set him free!

What’s striking is how little fuss is made of this by John afterwards. The story moves straight on, once Lazarus emerges. We just get a note a few verses later that the authorities wanted to execute poor old Lazarus, too – as if he hadn’t been through enough!

So what does John want us to take from this story, given some of the problems it raises?

First, I think he’s emphasising the compassion of Jesus. It’s clearly not the norm for Jesus to go around bringing people back to life. The gospels record three examples. We might debate whether they were actually dead, but these events are unusual. This is the last time Jesus will see three friends, and his compassion means he does something unusual for them. Jesus didn’t cure everyone in his world, or bring everyone who had just died back to life. But in this place, and at this moment, this is how he communicated his compassion to his friends. And it meant him confronting and overcoming death in a specific instance, before he would do so comprehensively at the resurrection.

Secondly, it says something about his mission. What lies ahead of him is a terrible future. All of the gospels refer to Jesus speaking of what will happen. The thought to carry him through that, must be the hope of resurrection, which he also predicts in other places. This event serves as a kind of symbol of that. I don’t believe that Lazarus was a kind of pawn in a game, but Jesus must have hoped that by doing this exceptional act, he might point his friends to a hope for the future – that death need not have the final say.

Finally, (and this may sound strange) this is a resuscitation, not a resurrection. Lazarus will die again, and we don’t know when that was to be. Jesus has not taken away his mortality by restoring him; he has extended his biological life. Dying is an inevitable part of being human, and this miracle doesn’t do away with that. In a very sense, this miracle merely postpones what for all of us is an acute and profound issue – that of our own mortality.

Instead of taking away that mortality, what Jesus did come to bring us was something else – the message of resurrection. Denying the reality of death is to deny our humanity. However, what Jesus brings through his life, death and resurrection is the possibility of having the fear of death lifted from us. The raising of the Lazarus is not what opens up that possibility; it is what Jesus goes through himself.

There is something unique here in the Christian faith. We believe in a God who came in a specific contained human form, experienced all of the limitations that brings. He knew hunger, thirst, love, grief and pain from a human point of view, and then went through suffering and death and out the other side. He doesn’t come to take our humanity away, with all its complexities, but to transform our experience of being human, knowing we are loved to eternity.

That doesn’t answer all the questions. It doesn’t stop us sometimes feeling that life has treated us badly, that it’s not fair, or even questioning whether God is there at all. But it does help us not to throw everything away, and encourages us to hold on to the hope that in Jesus we don’t have a temperamental wonder-worker who sometimes delivers the goods, but that in him we have something truer and deeper. That in the love he revealed, our fears can be calmed, we can know we are loved, and we can trust that for eternity.

Sermon for Mothering Sunday / Lent 4 / the day the churches closed

I didn't actually preach this - I posted it on our church's website. It isn’t the sermon I would have preached if we had actually held a Mothering Sunday service. However, it seemed the right thing to be saying in the present circumstances.

Psalm 34:11-20  is one of the psalms set for Mothering Sunday

¹¹ Come, my children, and listen to me;

   I will teach you the fear of the Lord.

¹² Who is there who delights in life

   and longs for days to enjoy good things?

¹³ Keep your tongue from evil

   and your lips from lying words.

¹⁴ Turn from evil and do good;

   seek peace and pursue it.

¹⁵ The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous

   and his ears are open to their cry.

¹⁶ The face of the Lord is against those who do evil,

   to root out the remembrance of them from the earth.

¹⁷ The righteous cry and the Lord hears them

   and delivers them out of all their troubles.

¹⁸ The Lord is near to the brokenhearted

   and will save those who are crushed in spirit.

¹⁹ Many are the troubles of the righteous;

   from them all will the Lord deliver them.

²⁰ He keeps all their bones,

   so that not one of them is broken.   (NRSV)

Most experiences in life contain some mixed emotions. I remember taking my Uncle Jack’s funeral. When I was talking to my aunt in preparation, she was adamant that I must include a funny story at his expense. He was a builder, and the story featured a entertaining encounter he had with a vicar when doing work at his church. As a new curate, being a clergyperson was now my profession, so it made it all the more amusing. Over the years since, I have known quite a few funerals to feature laughter mixed up with the tears. In the midst of the sadness of letting go, it affirms that the person we’re remembering had a sense of humour, did and said funny things, and brought us joy.

Likewise, a happy event can have its poignant side. The birth of my first granddaughter Ava is an overwhelmingly happy thing, and every picture I see of her makes me smile. But every now and then I catch a glimpse of something in her face that is a hint of the granny she will never know, and I feel a slight twinge of sadness that she will never know Debbie, and that we can’t share the experience of this new little person together. It doesn’t last long, and it certainly doesn’t spoil the joy, but I can’t deny that the feeling is there.

And so it is with Mothering Sunday – almost universally called Mother’s Day in the rest of the country. In the church, we might protest that it’s really about mother church, the mothering attributes of God, or in more catholic traditions a chance to talk about the Virgin Mary. But for most people, it is about mothers, and the uncomfortable truth is that celebrating mothers and motherhood in a church service [or the wider community] is emotionally complicated.

It’s tough on those who have lost their mothers. Those of us who are older may feel it less. For example, my mum was 80 when she died 10 years ago, she’d had a good life, and we were on good terms when it happened. It was a sudden shock when she died, but it has never made Mothering Sunday difficult for me, apart from a slightly odd feeling when I don’t need to buy a card. And I’m old enough for it to be relatively normal not to have one or both parents still with us. But it’s hard for those, who like my own children have lost their mum whilst still young, and are perhaps reminded not only of who they lost, but the times and celebrations that can no longer be shared.

Of course, losing a parent doesn’t always mean that they have died. Over the years I have known a lot of people who have had difficult or problematic relationships with their mothers, or were effectively abandoned by them. Some have even been abused by them. If we idealise motherhood in our Mothering Sunday celebrations in church, we risk alienating many who are present.

There are also those who have lost children, for whom the day might be a painful time, as they reflect on a child who has never been there to send a card or gift. And there are also women who have no children – either by choice, or infertility. Again, if we idealise the status of motherhood, what does that imply about those women who have not become mothers, or have lost their children?

From this you can see that planning worship for Mothering Sunday is not a straightforward as you might first think. How do we bring that complex mix of feelings to God? How do we worship Him, pray to Him, and learn from Him in a way that does at least some justice to everyone’s feelings and expectations?

That’s why I feel it is always important to acknowledge those difficulties that some people may have before going into anything more celebratory. The Christian community should be a place where that mix of emotions and experiences and stories can be brought and acknowledged together, and we should be able to do that without trampling on people’s grief and sadness, and also without simply appearing to be spoilsports. God wants us to pray and worship with honesty, integrity, and with compassion for those around us.

One of the great things about the great book of poetry in the Old Testament that we call the Psalms is that it contains the whole spectrum of human emotions right up next to each other – often in the same psalm. There’s love, hate, praise, penitence, anger, reassurance, peace, violence, desire for reconciliation, thanksgiving and more. Some psalms praise God in great adulation; others accuse God of being deaf and uncaring about His people. In this psalm you can see that range: the righteous, those who do evil and the brokenhearted are all mentioned.  There’s a recognition that life is hard, even for the faithful, although there is hope of ultimate deliverance.

Whatever state we are in, we need reminding of the emotions of others. It’s perhaps more obvious that those who are caught up in joy and thanksgiving should be aware of and sensitive to the needs of those who are grieving and hurting. Perhaps less obvious is that sorrow and despair also needs challenging. I once heard a story about a group Jews in a Nazi concentration camp meeting behind one of the sheds and praising God. They couldn’t possibly have done so in those circumstances as a result of any sense of happiness; the situation was so desperately bleak. Rather, it was suggested that this was more like protest. It meant facing fear, despair, sorrow and destruction and saying that their spirits would not be completely overwhelmed by it. Perhaps there are times when we are brought low – in much less drastic and dramatic ways - when we need some encouragement to protest against despair, and also be challenged by those who already do.

So on this strange COVID-19 Mothering Sunday when we cannot meet for a service of worship, maybe that’s the thought to take away with us. Many of us will feel despair at the way our lives have become unrecognisable compared to what they were only 2 or 3 weeks ago. Perhaps some of us are feeling a complex mix of emotions because of the nature of today - Mothering Sunday. Quite possibly some of us are separated from our mothers by geography or self-isolation, which would not have been factors a few weeks ago, and feel a new and different sense of loss: the loss of contact.

If we are brought low by all of this, it maybe that we need to protest with a song of praise. A song that defies the pressures and factors that bring us low and make us less than what we actually are. In defiance of a narrative that brings fear and shrinks our lives and world, perhaps the message of today is to praise, to marvel at the expanse of the universe and the diversity of creation, and to praise the God who is its source. 

And if we are still in good spirits and feeling positive, perhaps we need to encourage and lift up (metaphorically and with no contact, of course!) those around us, show compassion to those who are despairing, and continue to hold out the hope that come what may, we are loved and valued by God, and He has not deserted us. As our ancient poet said in the psalm:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted

   and will save those who are crushed in spirit.”

Greenbelt 2011 Diary: Monday

Image by Getty Images via @daylifeAlways feel a bit wistful on the last day of something like this. Just as you're getting used to camping, and have worked out the good food vans, and also have a clear idea where the decent loos are, it all comes to an end. Also tends to be the day when you bump into friends you were hoping to see all weekend, but somehow didn't.

The final Greenbelt day kicked off with a session led by Nadia Bolz-Weber (from House for all Sinners and Saints in Colorado) on the process of preparing a sermon. I've heard plenty of talks on how to preach - most of them very sound and very dull - and given a few myself. This was much more interesting, as she talked us through her week. Starting with reading the text for Sunday on Tuesday morning, and then processing all the things that happened and trying to discern the gospel - the good news - for her community. Having done that, she then preached the sermon. She used a fantastic image of wrestling with the text all week, preaching the sermon, and walking away limping. Despite being associated with the 'emergent' movement, she doesn't go in for tech or trendy presentation. She quite likes the idea of chuch being a bit odd.

As a recovering addict (clean 20 yrs) and having had quite a life, some of that colour comes out in her speaking and language, but the Lutheran theology that helped her embrace the possibility of faith still runs through her thought in a very compelling way.

Then it was an opportune moment to deconstruct the tent - didn't want to be doing that a) in the rain, b) in the dark, c) during something I really wanted to go to. Tent down and packed and lunch eaten, it was off to hear Andy Graystone's talk: Parts of me are dying. Andy is director of the Church and Media Network, which seeks to resource both the Church and the media in relating to and understanding one another. He has worked for BBC religion and produced radio and TV programmes.

Andy has an early diagnosed cancer, and spoke in a very amusing and engaging way about his experiences, the choices before him, and how he understands what is happening to him. One point particularly stood out - the terminology about cancer. He is uncomfortable with the fighting/battling talk, along with hero/victim terminology. As he put it, he sometimes feels an unwilling conscript in a war, not that he wouldn't want to be clear of cancer - it's the culture and mindset those terms imply. He also talked through how it focusses the mind on whether you actually believe in life after death or not.

The it was off to mainstage for a bit of Ahab. 'folk flavoured country-rock' was the description - an American influenced Uk band. Good fun and great live. They will soon be supporting Bellowhead on tour. Bit more Iain Archer on mainstage, but having already seen him twice, had a last look around. Then back for Kate Rusby. I'm not a full-on folkie, but she's very accessible, her voice is great, and I've rarely seen someone enjoy performing live quite so much. Apparently her first Greenbelt experience was as a teenager in 1990!

Then it was time for us to leave. Ron Sexsmith and Mavis Staples were to follow, so it was a strong line-up, but the M5/M6 called and we wanted to get home on Monday. Whether you're a camper or go for the soft option of an off-site hotel, whether you like it loud or quiet, whether you're a Christian or not, there'll be something somewhere in a Greenbelt festival that will make it worth your while coming.

Related articles

• Nadia Bolz-Weber on Preaching (revdlesley.net)