Monday, 18 August 2014

The Midwives of Egypt

This is a dialogue based on the Midwives of Egypt from Exodus 1:15-20 in the Bible. (The story is often called "Moses in the bulrushes," but Moses doesn't really do anything here!) I got the idea for this from a reflection "Women's Ministry: Some voices from the Bible" by Jan Such Pickard, published in  Acorns and Archangels (ed. Ruth Burgess, published by Wild Goose Publications)


Shiphrah: I’m Shiphrah

 Puah: And I’m Puah

Shiphrah: Midwives with attitude.

Puah: Wise women.

Shiphrah: We’ve just got a new directive from the pharaoh.

Puah: Kill all the Hebrew baby boys as soon as they are born.

Shiphrah: Who does this man think he is?

Puah: He’s the pharaoh, the ruler of our land.

Shiphrah: Yes but killing babies? That was never our job.

Puah: Wasn’t the mighty pharaoh put on Earth to guide us in the ways of the gods.

Shiphrah: But how can this be God’s work?

Puah: I understand what you’re saying. It just doesn’t seem right. Does it?

Shiphrah: Agreed then? Business as usual?

Puah: But won’t he be suspicious? We’ll be in for it when he finds out.

Shiphrah: Look, men, even pharaohs, don’t really know what goes on. We’ll confuse him with some wise women’s talk.

Puah: Great idea. Look, I read an article in the Daily Pyramid. It said that the Hebrew’s aren’t like Egyptians. It’s like they’re a different species. It’s why it’s OK to make them drag those heavy stones across miles of desert. They don’t feel it like the rest of us.

Shiphrah: How ridiculous. Isn’t it about time you stopped reading that rag?

Puah: No, you misunderstand me. When pharaoh asks why we didn’t kill any Hebrew babies, we claim that the Hebrew women are different.

Shiphrah: Yes, so they don’t feel it like us and they give birth all by themselves, and don’t need to call for a midwife.

Puah: Right, lets go then, there’s work to do.



Thursday, 14 August 2014

To the angels

Oh Angels,
You touch so many different places,

The Torah wrestling with Jacob,
Christmas heralding a birth,
The Holy Quran,
Angels with dirty faces,
Films, TV and pop songs,
Hiding behind lamp-posts or finding parking spaces.

Somehow you manage to find those spaces,
Beyond our expectations,
Beyond our divisions.

Messengers of new ideas,
Comforting,
Challenging.

Mystery, myth or  metaphor?
Stories, symbolism?
Dramatic images?
(Ideas are powerful!)

Not to be imprisoned in Victorian stained glass,
Neither to be forever dancing on the philosopher's pinhead,
Nor hidden in the pockets of the superstitious,
Not constrained by a tinsel halo, confined to a Christmas card,
As the serpents of war, injustice and greed,
Slither through our world,
I reclaim you,
For peace, for politics, for the peoples of the Earth.

Angel of Gaza,
Angel of Israel,
Angels of Iraq, Sudan and the Ukraine.

Hosts of angels watching over suffering places,
That never make our news.

May your eyes of flame challenge the tyrants,
Your songs of hope encourage the peacemakers,
Your soft wings enfold the suffering.

Angel of America,
Angel of Europe,
Shake awake the complacent.
Wrestle with the conflicted,
Whisper messages of peace to the humble.

Angels of Facebook and Twitter,
Of newspapers and television.
Amid the never ending stream,
Bring light,
And glimpses of truth.

All heavenly hosts,
Angels and Arc-angels,
Cherubim and Seraphim,
May a halo encircle our world,
That you may once again proclaim,
Tidings of great joy,
Peace and good will to the Earth.

And to my own Guardian Angel,
Find me a parking space,
Amid this troubled world,
A place where I might,
Be an angel too.



Palm Sunday 2020

This Palm Sunday, no crowds will line the streets waving branches. The cries of “Hosanna!” are silenced. Yet, when Christ’s disciples...