Hello Moments

We are, as you know, in the season of Pentecost - the season of the Spirit. One of the things I find myself tempted to lose sight of is what being re-connected with the Spirit means. I reckon I'm not the only one. Too often (if we think about it at all) we are tempted to associate the experience of the Spirit with the extra-ordinary rather than simply realising that to be connected to the Spirit is to be more fully connected to the ordinary…and it is that connection which makes the ordinary extraordinary. I call these experiences of connection or re-connection ‘hello’ moments.

 My oldest son, Stephen and I are Liverpool fans, and a good example of a ‘hello’ moment was when Liverpool were 3 – 0 down at half time in the Champions League Final a few years ago. Everyone thought that all was lost (including me I have to say). The second half duly got underway and within a few minutes of the restart Liverpool got a goal back. The rest, as they say, is history… they went on to win 4 – 3 and it became probably the greatest night in Liverpool Football Club’s long list of outstanding sporting achievements. I mention all this (yes there is a point!) because when that first Liverpool goal went in, the commentator made the immortal remark, ‘Hello?’ It was a single word, but it held within it a whole world of possibility.

That’s what ‘hello’ moments are. They are moments of revelation where a whole world of possibility is open to us. They are moments when we become aware of the extraordinary in the ordinary. The Spirit’s job is to get alongside us and gently nudge us in the direction of consistently saying ‘hello’ to life.


Here is that great 'hello' moment.. if you don't like football then just listen to the Liverpool Anthem, 'You'll Never Walk Alone', which, if you've ever heard it sung at Anfield, you'll recognise as another 'hello' moment.

Loitering Without Intent

The ascension has been described as the last of the Crises of the Christ – moments of dramatic illumination or dramatic change, (his birth, baptism, temptation, transfiguration, crucifixion and resurrection being the others).

But in many ways the crisis of the ascension is a crisis not just for the Christ, but for us. And this is illustrated in the way the disciples behave – In the account in the book of Acts, Luke has the disciples asking a question. They ask what seems to me to be the most parochial of questions – "When will you restore the kingdom to Israel?" I don't know about you, but if this was the last time I was going to be able to ask a question of someone like Jesus, it would have been something a bit more profound than that - 'Why do people suffer?' seems a good one to start with. Despite everything they had witnessed, they still saw Jesus as some kind of local hero, instead of the king of the universe. And the second thing the disciples do, as Jesus is glorified before their very eyes, is simply to stand there, mouths agape. "Why do you stand there (looking gormless?!)" says the angel. 

For me the disciples' question and their standing around represents our crisis. We in the church can often find ourselves wondering, ‘Well what now?’ We metaphorically stand around looking gormless. In some cases metaphor doesn’t enter into it! The absence of Christ can lead us to be persuaded that the church has an absence of leadership or purpose. As a result, we end up looking at the small picture; we end up asking the small questions, we end up standing around waiting for something, anything to happen. 

And yet, in all of this God is patient, and we are quietly but consistently reminded to think bigger, to ask the difficult questions, to look beyond the obvious and to live our lives in the glorious knowledge of Christ’s victory. Cardinal Newman (not the kind of bloke I can ever imagine having a pint with) describes what the ascension ought to mean to us rather well:

Christ is already in that place of peace, which is all in all. He is on the right hand of God. He is hidden in the brightness of the radiance which issues from the everlasting throne. He is in the very abyss of peace, where there is no voice of tumult or distress, but a deep stillness--stillness, that greatest and most awful of all goods which we can fancy; that most perfect of joys, the utter profound, ineffable tranquillity of the Divine Essence. He has entered into His rest. That is our home; here we are on a pilgrimage, and Christ calls us to His many mansions which He has prepared. 

Cardinal John Henry Newman