All are welcome to a quiet afternoon to explore ways of prayerfully engaging with art and the natural world.
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I want to tell you the story of this picture which I first saw on the front cover of my father in law’s Church Times when I was on holiday in Aboyne this summer. I think it was the colours, the rich red and the blue, that first caught my eye, and then I was drawn to the female figure doing something that was very familiar to me – untangling yarn. I liked the way the flowing fabrics loop around the woman, and the way words and little creatures are woven into the pattern. It was clear to me that this was an image that had emerged from prayer but the idea of Mary as an undoer of knots was something I hadn’t heard of before. Intrigued, I quickly turned to the article it referred to, hoping to learn more about it. You can imagine my disappointment when I realised that there was nothing in it about the picture except that the person who created it was a Church of England priest who had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, ADHD and autism at the age of 42 and was seeking to find a way to be herself in her role. With my father-in-law’s permission I cut out the image and tucked it in my diary with a note of the artist’s name, Rachel Noel. I would probably have forgotten about it if it wasn’t for the fact that later that day it rained and as we were unable to go out walking, I picked out a paperback from among the books I’d hastily thrown into a bag in case I had time to read. It was a biography of Pope Francis by the journalist Paul Vallely. I don’t remember where or when I had acquired it and until then I hadn’t noticed its full title, Pope Francis: untying the knots. My curiosity aroused, I started reading and to my surprise, I almost immediately came across the story of another, much older painting of Mary Undoer of Knots. This one was commissioned over 300 years ago for a German church, and had been barely known in its own country until it was discovered in 1986 by Jorge Mario Bergoglio, the man who was to be Pope Francis. It isn’t hard to understand why this painting spoke so powerfully at that time to the fifty year-old priest. He had been sent to Germany because his superiors wanted him out of his post and out of Argentina. His leadership of the Jesuits there had caused deep and bitter divisions in the Order at a time of political oppression in his country. He must have been a very hurt and disappointed man with many knots in his soul when he first came across the image of Mary surrounded by angels unravelling a long ribbon while her foot rests on a snake curled in knots.
The story goes that the painting was commissioned around the year 1700 by the grandson of a Bavarian nobleman whose marriage was in difficulties. Wolfgang Langenmantel and his wife Sophia were on the brink of separating, which would have been a huge scandal in those times when he sought the advice of a Jesuit, Jakob Rem, who was known for his wisdom. The priest had asked him to bring to their meeting the long white ribbon used in the celebration of the couple’s wedding. Holding the ribbon he prayed for the two of them through the intercession of the Virgin Mary that all the knots in their relationship would be untied and made smooth. Tradition holds that this prayer was answered. The couple reconciled and remained together for the rest of their lives. Decades later their grandson, a monk in the monastery in Augsburg, apparently commissioned the painting in thanksgiving for the miracle which saved the reputation of his family. Deeply moved by this very unusual image of Mary, Padre Bergoglio prayed that the knots of doubt and disappointment within him may be untied and that he would experience peace in his heart and mind. His prayers were answered and within months he was back in Argentina. He had prayer cards made from a postcard of the painting and for many years when he was Bishop to Buenos Aires, he would hand them out to anyone he met. Devotion to our Lady, Undoer of Knots, took hold in Argentina and continues to spread throughout South America and beyond.
It was at a retreat at St Beuno’s in Wales just two years ago that Rachel Noel was introduced to Mary Undoer of Knots. She had arrived totally exhausted by the pandemic, struggling to live with her mental condition, unsure if she could continue as a parish priest. In a blog, Mary, Undoer of Knots – thepinkvicar.com, she recalls that in order to slow down her troubled mind, she began to draw. She first created the little characters you see in the painting which represent all the different lenses through which she is seen and sees herself. And as she sat with them, it seemed to her that there were so many tangled threads in her life She scribbled out of frustration feeling, she said, ‘like someone overwhelmed with a box of old jewellery with the chains all knotted together or with a basket of knitting wool which has gone out of hand and the yarns have tangled together’. When she shared her drawings and her feelings, her retreat guide gave her a copy of the painting of Mary, Undoer of Knots and suggested she sat with it for the next few days. ‘It unlocked something for me’, she wrote. ‘This is a way that I can be with the mess, with the tangles that face me’. She hadn’t prayed with images of Mary before – it wasn’t part of her tradition – but she could accept that Mary is alongside us as we pray to God. So she doodled her own Mary Undoer of Knots and wrote a prayer to go with it: Our Lady, undoer of knots, unlock the knots that bind us. Connect us to the joy of God’s light and hope. Over the following days and then months when she got home, she continued to work on the image and to let the painting be her prayer for peace and courage to face the knots in her life and to allow the light of God’s love to shine within her. In the weeks since my holiday, I also have made the image a focus of my prayers. It has enabled me to become aware of the knots in my life and to ask God to help to smooth them out so that love can flow through me into the world. It has also helped me to pray for the knotty issues we have been exploring in Night Church during the summer: Climate Change, the Israel/Palestine conflict, the war in Ukraine and the Refugee Crisis to name but a few. So now, I invite you in turn to sit with the painting, aware of God’s love within and around you as you pray. Lord, you have searched me out and known me:
Our Bereavement Support Group is now meeting on the second Saturday of every month. Please contact our co-ordinator if you’d like to attend or want more information.
An after-school event for families with children on an eco theme, this Monday at St Mary’s Church Hall. Contact events@stmarysdunblane.org for more information
For the next month we join with Christians around the globe to focus on our relationship with our Creator God and with our common home considering how we put our faith into action.
Rachael writes: Many of us will know the trials and tribulations of sibling rivalry. Even last Sunday afternoon, as my brother and I (30 and 32 years old respectively) were taking some things from the rectory to the church hall, my dad walked off saying “I’ll leave you two to it, you get on better without us around anyway!”. It is simply an accepted fact in our family now, after years – decades even – of childhood squabbles, and teenage stand offs, that if we’re not vying for mum and dad’s attention, my brother and I can actually get on quite well. So, forgive me if I am projecting my personal experience too far but I do believe we’re not the only ones and that many, if not most, families experience this kind of tension between siblings for their parents’ attention and affection. Joseph and his brothers, however, take it to another level (Genesis 37.1-4, 12-28). I can’t say I’ve ever actually thrown my brother into a pit, nor sold him to passing traders, though the thought may have crossed my mind at times. But such is the brothers’ animosity towards Joseph that they want to kill him and end up selling him off as a slave!
The lectionary means that we are going to cut thirteen chapters of Genesis, and a two-hour Andrew Lloyd Webber musical mega-hit, into two brief readings. We’re going to miss out the baker and the butler, potipher’s wife, dreams of famine and plenty, and next week jump straight to the brothers standing before Joseph, begging for food and their lives. We miss out decades of his life, decades that he spends in a kind of wilderness, as a foreigner with no status, cast out from his family and away from his land. Remember, he is seventeen when his own brothers fake his death and sell him as a slave. I see some similarities between Joseph and Peter (Matthew 14.22-33). They’re both gifted, though perhaps not always wise. They are both destined for great things but need a little refinement before they get there. And in both stories that we hear about them today, they end up in the wilderness. We often admire Peter, first because he has the faith to get out of the boat and then because he falters and starts to sink. We take comfort from “The Rock” on whom Christ will build his Church having a moment of weakness, knowing that we would likely go the same way. Often, we skim over the fact that Peter steps out on the water while the storm is still raging around him. Sunday school pictures of a serene, lightly glowing Jesus, gliding like one of Dr Who’s daleks don’t help. Peter gets out of the boat into a wild sea. Into a literal wilderness. I suspect that, like sibling rivalries, I’m not overstretching when I suggest that most of us know what it is to experience a personal wilderness. Whether it’s a bleak and inhospitable period, or a time of turbulence and disorder, like Joseph and Peter most of us have had to go there at some point, perhaps frequently, perhaps we find ourselves there now. Eugene Peterson, pastor, author, and bible translator, calls his own experience of this “the Badlands”. He describes it as a kind of malaise, a featureless aridity, as if the colour had drained out of the vocation he had been so passionate about and the congregation that had been so full of life. But as he comes to terms with this period in his life and ministry, he says of it “there is a Badlands beauty that can only be perceived in the bad lands”. The over arching theme of our readings at the moment is getting involved in God’s work in the world, in being part of the growth of the Kingdom, the transformation of all things, the redemptive work of the Spirit. But sometimes, especially if you’ve been working hard at it for a while, the fire within you which once spurred you on, can become dim – it may even flicker out. Sometimes we can identify why we end up in the wilderness, and sometimes the Badlands feel as though they’ve crept up on us. And we can be frustrated by that, even having a sense that this is somehow unjust. Surely our faith should exclude us from the wilderness experience. Surely if we’re just good enough, faithful enough, holy enough, we shouldn’t have to face suffering or danger or challenge. But life with Christ cannot be reduced to “protection from danger” nor is faithfulness to God a religion of guaranteed happy ending (at least, certainly not in this life). Rather, if we look at the bible as a whole – the story of the people of Israel, the ministry of Jesus, and the life of the early church – we see the co-existence of danger and promise. We see wilderness: the wide open space of possibility and the desolate place of pain and darkness. And there, the people are continually brought back to relationship with God.
Joseph goes into the pit and then the hands of slave-traders: danger. He goes with a gift of interpretation and dreams of his future status: promise. Peter steps out into the storm: danger. Jesus is there on the water with him: promise. God is in the wilderness too, calling us to relationship, and asking us to trust. At the start of our gospel passage, Jesus shows us something of how we can handle the Badlands. Matthew 14.23: “he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone”. I find that the wilds usually force us to slow down: they’re like quicksand or a good Scottish peat bog. There’s no rushing to the other side. If you push, you sink further. But, if we give time to contemplation and prayer. And if we accept, welcome even, the opportunity to slow down, then we might find that we are indeed walking with God and learning that in danger and promise, there is love. I wonder what that looks like for each of us? What does it look like to slow down? To meet God in the in the desert, or on the waves, of the wilderness? And how might doing so transform our relationship with God and change the way that we share God’s love in the world? Open your merciful ears, O Lord, Another opportunity for those struggling with the loss of a loved one to receive support next Saturday afternoon at St Mary’s Church Hall. If you can’t make it or would prefer to speak one-to-one please contact our coordinator.
The Living with Loss group at St Mary’s invites you to a drop in session in the Meeting Room of our Hall on Saturday 8th July from 2pm until 3.30 pm.
Come and have a cup of tea and a piece of cake with us, meet some of our team and find out what we can offer to help you. Everyone is welcome and you can bring a family member or a friend with you.
Get in touch with us if you would like to talk to someone or require further information.
 Please get in touch with Nerys at rector@stmarysdunblane.org if you would like to join us for an afternoon of quiet reflection in and around St Mary’s Church Hall.
 photo by Claire Jeannerat In recent times, the farmers of Great Britain have had a lot of bad press. Many would have us believe that British farms are, in the majority, characterised by huge, faceless, production line style agriculture. However, many farmers are still carrying on their craft in the traditional way, not so far removed from the farmers and shepherds in Jesus’ time. Like those in first century Palestine, I know of a number of shepherds and shepherdesses who live at close proximity with their flock at certain times of the year. For one it’s important that she’s in her caravan in the fields during lambing time, so that she can be on hand to help twenty-four seven. For another, during the summer months when they are on the mountain plateaus, he lives in his shepherd’s hut on the hillside to keep a close watch. That same shepherd leads his 300 or so sheep on a 40 mile trek every year to reach the summer pastures, not pushing and harassing from the back but leading from the front with the sheep following the one whom they know and trust. These types of farmers know their sheep. They know their lineage, their genetics and their issue, through generations. They know those who are prone to ailments or difficult births, where they’re hefted, who are the escape artists, the risk-takers, and the slowcoaches. They too, despite what some sections of the media would have us believe, want their livestock to have an abundant life. Jesus describes himself here as the gate who allows the shepherd and the sheep to come and go. A few verses on, he’ll say that he is shepherd, whom he has said “calls the sheep by name and leads them out”, “goes ahead of them”, and who “they follow because they know his voice”. The sheep know the shepherd, they listen to the shepherd, and they follow the shepherd. I would suggest that that is vocation. To know, listen to, and follow God. Our realisation of our vocation relies on our knowing God. Knowing God’s loving character, compassionate nature, desire for justice and the redemption of all things. It also relies on knowing who we are in God – what character and desires God has created within us. And both of these are active knowing’s: they involve effort, energy, the giving of time and attention. Vocation relies on knowing God. The next part of vocation is listening. We do a lot of listening not with our ears. Relying on video and telephone calls through the pandemic made us really aware of how much we rely on our other senses to interpret and understand people in conversation. We rely on our eyes, our sense of touch, and our intuition, when we converse with other people. Which is good because I have never audibly heard the voice of God! But I do know that by watching the world around me, listening to and weighing what is said by others, along with reading the Bible, and even sitting in the silence of prayer, somehow, I hear God. I hear God in those nudges to the conscience, those convictions of the heart, those fleeting thoughts that come as if from nowhere. God is speaking all the time, and the sheep are those who listen. And finally: following. When you know God and who you are in him; when you’ve listened and heard the promptings and suggestions; the only option left is to follow. Sometimes that’s a tiny step, sometimes it’s a giant leap. In either case, you know that you are stepping into the loving arms of a Good Shepherd, of the one who came that we may have life and have it abundantly. Vocations come in all shapes and sizes. Really the possibilities are endless. In the church they can look like a calling to licensed or ordained ministry, to lending your expertise on a board or committee at provincial and diocesan level, to being part of the stewards, coffee, or intercessions rotas. Buildings and gardens need management and tending, outreach initiatives need instigators and sustainers, children and young people need mentors and guides, everything needs people of prayer to underpin and gird it. We all have vocations to things outside of church too: to our families or our neighbourhoods; to jobs or voluntary roles; to a particular way of running a business. Vocations can change, stop, and start anew. You can have more than one! Whatever it may be: know God and who God says you are. Listen, actively and intentionally. If God is speaking, it’s time to follow. Living in step with God like this is the way to abundant life.
Christ is the gate who opens the way. God is the good shepherd who calls us by name. And the Lord is our Shepherd. We shall not want. He makes us lie down in green pastures. He leads us beside still waters. He restores our soul. He leads us in right paths for his namesake. And even though we walk through the darkest valleys we need fear no evil. For God is with us to comfort and anoint. To offer the way to life that is abundant.
Plenty of activities for all ages as well as information on a wide range of environmental and energy-saving topics, food and fun!
Night Church as usual at 8 p.m. next Sunday evening as the concert has been cancelled.
Dear friends, I have travelled that journey every year since then and each time I feel that I’m drawn a little deeper into the mystery of our faith. I look forward this year to accompanying you on this journey whether you have been travelling it for many years or whether this your first time. I hope that it will be a blessing to us all. We will start the Great Week on Palm Sunday by gathering together in the hall to remember and re-enact the story of the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem before processing to the church singing and waving our palm crosses. While the children build their Easter gardens in the hall, the adults will listen and reflect on Matthew’s account of the Passion, the events of Christ’s last days, presented as a dramatized reading. In the evening, we will reflect further on the events of that day in Jerusalem 2,000 years ago and prepare ourselves for the rest of the week. On Wednesday evening, we are invited to Holy Trinity Church in Stirling for a performance of sacred music with Scripture readings and poetry. It will feature Pergolesi’s Stabat Mater, a musical setting of a 13th-century hymn which portrays Mary’s suffering during the crucifixion of his son, written during the final weeks of the composer’s life. On Maundy Thursday, there is an opportunity to gather in our cathedral in Perth in the morning for the Chrism Mass. During this eucharist, the Oil of Chrism (for Baptism) and the Oil of Healing are consecrated by the Bishop, and all ministers, both ordained and lay, re-affirm their promises and re-dedicate themselves to their calling. Back at St Mary’s, the service for Maundy Thursday will start at 7 p.m. with a commemoration of the Last Supper and an opportunity to wash each other’s feet as a sign of self-giving service. After receiving communion, the sanctuary will be stripped of all its decorations and then we stay, if we wish, to watch and pray in silence as we remember the time Jesus spent in the Garden of Gethsemane. On Good Friday afternoon, we will present ‘The Nail’ by Archbishop Stephen Cottrell. Key witnesses, including Judas Iscariot, Pontius Pilate and Mary Magdalene describe Christ’s crucifixion from their own point of view and consider the part they played in hammering the nails into his body. Each reflection will be accompanied by a Bible reading, a prayer, a hymn and a period of silence. You are welcome to drop in for part of the service or to stay for the three hours between noon and 3 p.m. In the morning, children of all ages are welcome to explore the Easter Trail together in the church grounds at 10 a.m. followed by hot cross buns in the Hall. On the evening of Holy Saturday we come together again just before nightfall to start our Easter celebrations. From earliest times, Christians have gathered on this night to recall the story of God’s saving work, from Creation through to the death and resurrection of Jesus. We will then light our Easter candle in a new fire and bring the light of Christ into the darkened church, sharing it among us as we listen to the Exultet, the ancient hymn of triumph and rejoicing. Then we renew the promises made at our baptism and hear the Gospel proclaimed before sharing in the first Eucharist of Easter. On Easter Morning will be a quiet, traditional communion service at 8.30 a.m. followed by a lively celebration for the whole congregation together with an Easter egg hunt for the children. The following Sunday evening, we have an opportunity to attend another concert of sacred music, this time in our own church. Scotland’s newest specialist chamber choir, Ominum, will perform William Byrd’s Mass for Four Voices along with other works of the European Renaissance by Palestrina, Guerrero, and Tallis. I hope that there is something to appeal to everyone amidst the services planned this year. I would urge you, however, not to skip from Palm Sunday to Easter Day but to take the journey one day at a time just as Jesus did. Blessings, Nerys
You are welcome to join us for our services during Holy Week and Easter. For more information go to the Rector’s Letter for April
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