The Harbour of Ourselves

2008-05-26T08:55:00.002+01:00

Farewell

2008-01-04T23:42:00.000Z

Yesterday we lost a giant, and I, dear Gareth, Mark, Martin, Colin, Cary, PIp, the Greenbelt community and many more lost a friend.

...now go drink whiskey with the Almighty and frustrate the angels my friend. I came out of blog retirement for a moment just for you, my e-mail to you still in the outbox....unfinished. There is will remain...rest eternal you beautiful man, rest eternal. You are missed.

'May there be some beautiful surprise
Waiting for you inside death
Something you never knew or felt,
Which with one simple touch
Absolves you of all loneliness and loss,
As you quicken within the embrace
For which your soul was eternally made.

'May your heart be speechless
At the sight of the truth
Of all your belief had hoped,
Your heart breathless
In the light and lightness
Where each and every thing
Is at last its true self
Within that serene belonging
That dwells beside us
On the other side
Of what we see.'
(John O'Donohue, who passed away peacefully in his sleep January 3, 2008)

Gates of Time.....

2007-12-31T19:18:00.000Z

"Lost in love and found in reason
Questions that the mind can find no answers for
Ghostly eyes conspire treason as they gather just outside the door
And every ghost that calls upon us brings another measure in the mystery
Death is there to keep us honest and constantly remind us we are free

Down the ancient corridors, through the gates of time
Run the ghosts of days that we've left behind..."
(Dan Fogelberg 1951-2007): Ghosts

For a while now I have flirted with this post

And at last (to my relief) it's here

This will be my last entry. Two years ago I started blogging 'to save on therapy' - these days it gives me more headaches than heart-filled moments of pleasure or hope. So, finally, this part of my journey is closing.

I have decided to finally put some bloody time into finishing the damn book I started after I finished my MA - I've given it a catchy title:

Asylum: Comfort for the Spiritual Refugee

Based on my thesis....it's a book of hope about my heart for those who live in the waste-lands and margins of spirituality, for the kind of inclusive community that brings the kind of solace and comfort that challenges, enriches and elevates our souls.

A Bruce Springsteen song profoundly moved me: Land of Hopes and Dreams. Based on an old folk song called ‘This Train’ that had often been performed by Woody Guthrie, this new song seemed to encapsulate the possibility of redemption for all those people who were beat up and broken on the wheels of living. Those people who struggled to find a spiritual home; those refugees caught in a divine asylum. It is a song that gives integrity and hope to the human spirit which aches from within the stress of the most desperate conditions, a song which gives an alternative promised land to the one most spiritual refugees meet; no abject hostility, no shame, and no destitution – just a place of belonging where sunlight streams, where we meet in a land of hope and dreams. In short it became a hymn to perseverance:

My final thoughts for this blog though are rooted in sad days, in the loss of those who should have had more years in the sun, in those we lost too soon. Two beautiful people who left this world so very recently. Jackie Bowell, wife, mum, sister, aunty who now leaves a huge gap in our family - a woman of grace, love, compassion, courage and spirit - whose greatest legacy I think was that she helped everyone she met, and she did that because she loved without condition. Put simply she embodied selflessness and that's why now, many feel a great chasm.

Then there was Mr Fogelberg - an artist whose music has shaped thousands and helped us dream and capture the hopeless romantic within us. His voice like velvet, his storytelling drew us to the mystery and struggles of love and life. His music, philosophy on life (particularly Native Americans) without any question changed my life during my travels through North America over a period of months in 1994.

Dan left us on December 16 at 6:00am . He fought a brave battle with cancer and died peacefully at home in Maine with his wife Jean at his side. His strength, dignity, and grace in the face of the daunting challenges of this disease were an inspiration to all who knew him.

Once more my friend Martin Wroe describes how I feel about death far more beautifully than I......

Death is:
Death is so far away
that you can't see it,
(when you are a child)
and so close
you can almost touch it,
(when you are old)

In between
we keep it waiting
at a polite distance
(not wanting it to interrupt our flow)

Death is
the end of everything.
And then
everything
carries on
without you

Death is highly predictable
and, usually, most unexpected
disorganising your affairs
(and your marriage)
frustrating your plans
for your whole day
deleting the calendar
of the life you had organised

We spend our lives
hoping we will never die
fearing we will never live
wondering if there is a compromise

Death is
for making us wonder
what life is

Death is
our quiet companion
beside us
from the day we are born.
standing next to us,
courteous, discreet
waiting its moment,
breathless

Death is
a shock to the system
(particularly for the living)
It is
the beyond which,
beyond which we do not step

Death is
a clean cut through the tangled fabric of our friendships
a pinpoint thrust in the heart of all that we love

Death is
a serial killer, refusing to admit
it has lost its sting
(Pointing, reasonably, everywhere for proof)
An everyday terrorist
Detonating unknown futures
Where nothing, no more, goes to plan

Death is
Attended by many words and many tears
And a singular solitary ache

Death leaves a scar in a place
not located by x-ray
not healed by conventional medicine

Death speaks a language all of its own
words from a tongue you never knew you had
the great unspeakable
failing to express
the great unknown

Death is
a frame hung
around our days
three score years and ten wide
600 million breaths deep

Death is
stepping back for a better look
reflecting, regretting
wondering, lamenting
appreciating, understanding
This abstract expressionism
that is all our days

Death is life
(for a second)
Zooming into focus

Death is
a post-it note on your heart
'Today.
Don't Forget.
Live'.

Death is parting
Less them from us
Than us from them
Part of us had gone with them
We have become separated from ourselves
We will not be ourselves again
Not until this parting is over
Then we will also feel like ourselves

Death is punctuation
comma, semi-colon,
Death is not a full stop
Death is not a sentence

Death is the absence
(not of your life, just your pulse)

Death is
everything to be frightened of
and nothing to fear
a valley of shadow
tread carefully
fear no evil

Death is the limit of your sight
stretch out your hand
it's there
got it?
hold tight to rod and staff

Death is
followed
pretty quickly
by going to ground
In the ground is a mystery
Which you cannot see - it is hidden
Which you cannot hear - it is silent

Death is
a seed buried in pitch black
Intelligent,
Of time and season,
Knowing, beyond knowing,
Of all that's ahead
You have to be buried
in order to rise again
The darkness covers death
but
death knows
it is always waiting
to be overcome

Breath out
for the last time
Breathe in
Like never before
(The Sky's Window: Lines and lyrics in search of a numinous now - available at lulu.com)

Two years ago on January 1st I, and a couple of mates, went into the mountains for an ice climb to welcome in the New Year. We climbed Blencathra by Sharp Edge which, with its high exposure, is one of the most difficult ridges in the Lakes – throw in Freezing snow and ice and it became a veritable tour de force on a beautiful clear but cold day. I’ve been climbing trees for years but mountains are something else, still, the two guys who were climbing with me weren’t exactly novices.

I was sandwiched in between two Marines, my brother-in-law Craig, a Sergeant, who having served in Bosnia and Iraq (twice) last year called it a day because of his disillusionment with our presence there, and Darren (aka Swifty), who is one of only fourteen people in over a hundred years to be awarded the ‘Stand Hope’ Gold Medal by the Royal Humanic Society. He was given this honour for rescuing a man on the summit of Everest four years ago. Due to head for the summit some time during the following 24 hours his team became aware of someone in difficulty. He sacrificed his chance at the top of the world at 7,600 meters at Camp 5 to save another. It still is the highest rescue that has ever been made on Everest. Suffice to say, I was in pretty good company on the extremity of ‘Sharp Edge’.

Just yesterday though, the same close family who lost dear aunty jackie had to deal with a man who fell from this ridge - he fell a long way - in vain they tried to keep him alive, but his injuries were too horrific.

Just days after saying goodbye to a wife and a mum, this - in trying to find solace in the hills, more death. Sting was right...how fragile we are

When I heard of Aunty Jackie's passing I put down these words, ‘Last night felt the sky fall, and it just kept on falling, relentlessly out of my control.’ She was gone, she was gone to a place I’ve heard of, a place I’ve even allowed myself to dream of, even journey toward, yet in my dreams I always return, Aunty Jackie cannot. I talked with close friends concerning how we might best deal with this kind of loss. We concluded that just maybe we need to look into the void that remains, be still, and sit with that emptiness for a while.

This life we lead is not the kind that gives us any peace of mind. I’m not sure it was ever meant to. There are times when I find myself enveloped in circumstances which beg me to ask of God the question, ‘Why?’ Less cynical people might counter the question by asking ‘why not?’ I think, from a place that is not often visited, I know what they mean; but I am not in a place where I can neither say it with any conviction nor own it.

These things can’t be explained; why it happens, the providence of God and the mysteries of life and death are the very fibre of our faith. They were gifts of love and life, and so are we, let us not turn our backs on them. A friend penned the words that, ‘love is as strong as death, and many waters cannot quench it when it’s true.’ The bible talks of love being set as a seal on our hearts. These are beautiful and affirming words, until that love somehow seems to be erased in some fashion. There are those who now stand before the abyss, not knowing how to put one foot forward for fear of falling. I suppose the fear is that you just keep on falling, and that you’ll never make it back. Some journeys though are harder to make than others, and for the broken hearted who mourn, the journey may seem impossible.

Philip Yancey suggests that, ‘sometimes the only meaning we can offer suffering people is the assurance that their suffering, which has no apparent meaning for them, has meaning for us.’ Our real power lies in our brokenness and pain, and it’s a power that even the angels in heaven do not have. There is no rhyme or reason to it, but Jesus ruins our lives, yet out of those ruins he does make something more beautiful than we can imagine – it’s just a different kind of beauty than this world is ruled by.

Bebo Norman sang, ‘It was not your time, that’s a stupid line. A fallen world took your life.’ This is a hard truth to face though when the void you stand before is as wide as the Grand Canyon. Maybe that’s what living for a cause greater than ourselves enables us to do – to face eternity with the strength that comes from faith. For those left behind, somewhere deep inside, I believe there is an assurance, even today, in our culture of isolation and death, of hope in a Nazarene who embodies a bigger picture and a bigger love. My prayer is that we all have the courage to find it, regardless of what the journey holds. Jesus always had a very special place in his heart for the broken…and I do not believe for a moment that anything has changed.

Thanks for journeying a while with a vagabond and ragamuffin - just because I will not be blogging doesn't mean I won't be dropping by the gems that have amused, stretched and stirred my soul - who knows, I may even comment!

Grace and beer always.....and a very happy new year to all, from Australia through London, Belfast through to Canada and the West Coast of America.....I'll be seeing you!

The day we put aside to remember Aids

2007-12-01T08:59:00.000Z

(Susan Segu: HIV +)

More than 25 million people have died of AIDS since 1981.
Africa has 12 million AIDS orphans.
By the end of 2005, women accounted for 48% of all adults living with HIV worldwide, and for 59% in sub-Saharan Africa.
Young people (15-24 years old) account for half of all new HIV infections worldwide - around 6,000 become infected with HIV every day.
Of the 6.5 million people in developing and transitional countries who need life-saving AIDS drugs, only 1.3 million are receiving them.

AND....Global Military Spending now tops $1T

Not so long ago Donald Rumsfeld aimed critisicm at China's military spending, suggesting that; “Since no nation threatens China, one must wonder: Why this growing investment? Why these continuing large and expanding arms purchases?” A question he may well ask of himself. According to a report recently released by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute Global Military Spending topped $1Trillion in 2004. The United States accounted for 47 percent of all military expenditures, while Britain and France each made up 5 percent of the total. In all, 15 countries accounted for 82 percent of the world's total military spending. The BBC reported last month that Chinese military spending increased by 12% in 2004 to $25Bn - or one twentieth of what the US spends.

Makes me want to puke

The problem is not just about Aids it’s about poverty. As photojournalist Don McCullin describes: ‘this isn’t just a medical situation. It’s a combination of things. But the primary cause is poverty, which leads to hunger and despair.” Whilst in Tanzania a couple of years ago I met with a group of women (Susan being one of them), all of whom had tragic stories to tell, all of whom are (if still alive) living with full blown Aids, all of whom (bar one) would be leaving children behind when they die – this they said was the hardest part of living with the disease. I remember stopping writing when they told me this because there were no words to describe how I felt...

Goodness...oh, and a new job

2007-11-27T04:22:00.000Z

mercy is the road we walk.......

'The gospel no longer benefits the poor essentially. In fact, Christianity has now even become a downright injustice to those who suffer (although we are not always conscious of this, and certainly unwilling to admit to it). Today the gospel is preached to the rich, the powerful, who have discovered it to be advantageous. We are right back again to the very state original christianity wanted to oppose! The rich and powerful not only get to keep everything, but their success becomes the mark of their piety, the sign of their relationship to God. And this promts the old atrocity again - namely, the idea that the unfortunate, the poor are to blame for their condition; that it is because they are not pious enough, are not true christians, that they are poor, whereas the rich have not only pleasure but piety as well. This is supposed to be Christianity. compare it with the New Testament, and you will see that it is as far from that as possible.'
(Kierkegaard)

He penned these words quite some time ago....not much has changed really and it seems we don't learn much at all.

As I have always thought, the real fragrance of God is found in Gethsemene and Calvary....

...and maybe for the poor the gospel is good news because it is a sign of God's nearness...ironically when Jesus wishes were not met, and his own dad turned away....

Annie Dillard said that there is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by. I think she may be right.

Talking of which, I forgot to mention - got a new job last week - I now work for Government (I hung up my chain saws). Ironic that it is I cannot say anymore than that as I've signed the secrecy act. Suffice to say, it's my journey into politics - the new chapter begins. 'Fix it from the inside; that's what the grown ups do'. Isn't that what President Santos said in the final episode of the West Wing?

My attempt at a good life, maybe this is my path....

Ghosts

2007-11-17T02:14:00.000Z

'The dead sit at our tables long after they have gone.'
(Mitch Albom)

Chains

2007-11-06T10:40:00.000Z

Maybe we should wear our broken hearts and battered idealism not like hard-won honours but open, weeping sores...maybe that unlocks the door that leads to freedom...maybe

"All our experiences are needs, dissolving when the needs are fulfilled. but the truth is, our existence, too is a need. We are such stuff as needs are made of, and our little life is rounded by a will. Lasting in our life is neither passion nor delight, neither joy nor pain but the answer to a need. The lasting in us is not our will to live. there is a need for our lives, and in living we satisfy it. Lasting is not our desire, but our answer to that need, an agreement not an impulse. Our needs are temporal while our being needed is lasting."
(Heschel)

sunrise...

2007-10-22T07:42:00.000+01:00

...this morning. it looked as though the sky was on fire....beautiful.

What is it Father O'Donohue says? 'Beauty does not linger, it only visits. Yet beauty's visitation affects us and invites into it's rhythm, it calls us to feel, think, and act beautifully in the world: to create and live a life that awakens the Beautiful.'

Sunrise may only have lasted but a few moments but it's memory has to be brushed away....

Amazing what mobile/cell phones can do these days.....

time...

2007-10-19T22:30:00.000+01:00

'There's a loneliness inside her, and she'd do anything to fill it in. And though it's red blood bleeding from her now, it feels like cold blue ice in her heart....when all the colours mix together to grey.'
(Dave Matthews Band)

I started this blog really for a way of finding therapy for my soul...so today, I preach to myself, my soul if you like. knowing that if i listen closely, if i have the courage to do so, i just may see the divine, and in seeing the divine, i may see others as i should, as they really are.... i may just also see myself.

the trouble is, am i willing to see the truth of who i am, the real me? for the reason i don't stop most of the time is because i do not want to see who i am - that person who lurks beneath...

they say the truth sets you free,
hmmm,
it also breaks you to pieces

'if i stopped

if i was quiet for a minute
if i was calm
if i was still

if i turned everyone down
if i switched everything off
if i ceased looking everywhere all at once
if i was silent
if i was still

if i stayed at home
if i didn't pick up the phone
if i was out even when i was in
if i was silent
if i was still

if i slowed
right
down

if i simply sat
here
there
anywhere

if i stood on my head
and emptied out the contents

if i stopped

would you be there
would you speak to me
would i be able to hear you
would it be worth it?

if i stopped
would it be long enough?

if i was silent
would i hear anything?

if i heard something
would i know it was you?

if i did
would i be interested?

if i was
would i stop again?'

(Martin Wroe from 'When You Haven't Got a Prayer: A journalist talk to God')

Mystical Possibilities?

2007-10-09T06:28:00.000+01:00

"...other things talking in unkown tongues,
And notes of busy life in distant worlds
Beat like a far wave on my anxious ear."
(Tennyson)

I once heard a philosopher speaking about eternity, they defined it as 'an infinite extent of time, in which every event is future at one time, present at another, past at another.'

I found this an interesting definition, which caused me to think about how infinity looked. Does infinity have no beginning and no end? What is time that has no beginning and no end? And can time be defined without eternity or eternity without time? All good questions I thought to myself, (or maybe I need to get out more). I mean, could it be that eternity time is going on forever but in two different directions? The remarkable Meister Eckhart thankfully brought some order to my chaos. He suggests that the Biblical God gave His name to Moses as 'I am' and so concludes that this is indeed a most profound statement - further suggesting that it is the same as Christ saying, 'I am', that is, he is in eternity itself while Abraham is in time - therefore, he 'was' not 'is'. Those who live in the light of eternity always are and are never subjected to the becoming of 'was' and 'will be' (I know, it hurts my head too).

Eckhart concludes that 'eternity is the absolute present, and the absolute present is living a sono-mama life, where life asserts itself in all its fullness.

As i say, I probably need to get out more, but my thinking comes from thinking about the soul and where it resides and journeys to. Maybe our soul is the invisible geography that invites us to new frontiers? Mystic friend John O'Donohue speaks of the idea of expulsion being at the heart of birth (Eden). He begs the question, maybe the reason Adam and Eve left Eden was not so much that they were expelled but that they were banging on the door/gates to see what else was out there. That maybe the screams of a new born baby are the cries that long to be led back to shelter because they think they are about to die - the scream is 'let me back to shelter'?

And so maybe that's how we view death and eternity - because we only see it from one side

I don't know, not even sure what i'm trying to say. All i know is that this rambling is a search for, and longing for the real presence of the divine, that pure presence where we get clarification of our own blurredness so we can maybe enter into that presence of God. It seems to me both death and birth are closer companions than we realise.

As i've said before, too many of us i think neglect our minds and so never awaken our hearts....

Source

2007-09-07T06:37:00.000+01:00

My mind was called across the years
Of rages and of strife
Of all the human misery
And all the waste of life

We wondered where our God was
In the face of so much pain
I looked up to the stars above
To find you once again

We travelled the wide oceans
Heard many call your name
With sword and gun and hatred
It all seemed much the same

Some used your name for glory
Some used it for their gain
Yet when liberty lay wanting
No lives were lost in vain

Is it not our place to wonder
As the sky does weep with tears
And all the living creatures
Look on with mortal fear
(Beneath A Phrygian Sky: Loreena McKennitt)

A disciple asked his guru, 'How am i to attain peace when there is so much noise around this village? Every time I try to meditate, there's a rooster crowing or a child crying or a dog barking. I can't concentrate on my prayers.' The guru said nothing but took the man by the hand and led him into the forest. They walked for some time until they came across a small pool. It was a windy day and the surface of the pond had become choppy.

'What do you see in the pool?' the guru asked. 'It is troubled,' replied the disciple. His master then bid him dive into the pool, to the bottom. When he emerged from the water, his master asked him again what he saw in the pool. 'It is still and deep,' the man answered. 'So then,' said the master, 'you must learn how to pray from the water.'

Euphoria collides....

2007-09-02T02:18:00.000+01:00

You know, words are elusive in the aftermath of such beauty. Moments of transcendance are now filtered by the everyday mundane - the juxtaposition of life I guess. Father O'Donohue once told me that the duty of maturity is to awaken one's mind and bring it home; he said that too many neglect their minds and so never awaken their hearts. I guess Greenbelt is such a waking bed, a place, an arena where we come back to the harbour of ourselves and ask who we are becoming. So often we are on the run from ourselves. Maybe if we were to sit down and travel to the heart of our own darkness and face our demons we just may begin to see that they don't quite have the power over us we once thought....

Fear can be like a fog and it's only antidote is love...something this festival is drenched in - a prophetic place of grace where God is illuminated in the mirror of our souls - a place of new frontiers - a landscape where we do not waste our hearts on fear anymore...but instead we look to hope, to possibility, before the euphoria of a thin place collides with the thick hard land of everyday life.

This year there was most definitely a fragrance of something that is in us and yet just out of our reach....

....my grace notes were

wonderful late night conversations with the lovely (want to take you home to meet my mum - she'd love you!) steve beautiful imperfect Pip belfast's delectable beauty Dr 'soon to be lost to the land of the free and exraordinarly brave' Higgins (not everyday you get a large pink brassiere thrown at you when you're on stage!!!!! the Woodie Guthrie of Wales, his side kick the beguiling Stewart Henderson< Ken, Big John Colin, Father 'O' himself and many more.... grace conversations 'that taught our hearts to fear, and grace...that fear relieved'

Talkin with an old prophet over crap hotel pizza (it didn't matter) and a bottle of claret, where I realised that we are not as strong as we think we are. I guess John (Smith) always seemed larger than life - a while back it seemed the only thing he couldn't do was walk on water (and I reckon he'd have got a fair way if he'd tried) - older in years now and awaiting tests on his return to Aus, I realised my own mortality because of his, and you know what? His fragility holds more strength than his Elijah like days ever did...someone who is most definitely on the side of the angels.

Pip describes him as a sensational singer and performer, real communicator rather than smug - flash - 'pretend-pro' performer. Michael McDermott was one of two acts I wanted to see - he did not disappoint. Wearing his heart on his sleeve he expressed an aching and a longing to find his place in this world through his own torture as a beautiful imperfect human becoming. A no holds barred artist - raw, real, sensitive, creative, beguiling and wonderful. Few artists reveal their true selves for fear of rejection, yet there was no bull-shit with this dear broken vessel. He embodied for me what Thomas Merton observes; that "The end of all seeking is purity of heart - a clear unobstructed vision of the true state of affairs,an intuitive grasp of ones own inner reality as anchored or rather lost in God. " A truly inspiring man who took me out of my comfort - thanks Dave for bringing him and for the introduction....look forward to seeing where the connection journeys....

Then there was the rather overweight kid who ran as fast as he could to give back a cool as hell teen god his daily diary that had fallen from his half way down his ass jeans (what is that about?) as he raced through the site on his scooter...not glamorous I know but it was a kindness I rarely see...I pray moments of grace come back on him tenfold...

My almost 'Greenbelt moment' (a bloody close call) was on friday morning as i was waiting in the hotel for a lift to site. I was sat reading when am man i recognised said hi. It was Mark Yaconelli, son of my dear messy departed friend Yac. I was sat in the very same place I was when I met his dad 7 years earlier. We hugged and exchanged a thousand words without speaking....when he left I sat and wept, his mannerisms, looks and rhythm of speech was uncannily like his father's....brought back memories of big moments....

* note, check out mark's talks - outstanding - he out sold everyone, and that has nothing to do with whose son he is!

Then there were my tears as I watched the L'arche community eat flesh and drink blood on sunday morning - they reminded me that the eucharist is the real presence where the veil comes down; the mystery where the balance between light and darkness is most apparent....No wonder Vanier and Nouwen learned so much there...

And on the final night, act number two on my wanted list - Duke Special - wonderful theatre, so original, affectionately funny and so bloody refreshing to see a band having fun on stage. They closed out the festival beautifully.

My 'Greenbelt moment' though came (as they always do) by surprise. It was Billy Bragg's fault entirely. In 'The Rising' on Saturday lunch time, Martyn asked Billy what, more than anything keeps moving and inspiring him to pick up a guitar; what had been his 'I have been to the mountin-top' moment. As the question was asked I instinctively remembered a few people he has worked/collaborated with - Elvis Costello, Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne, Tom Waits, Bruce Springsteen and Roy Orbison sprang to mind - but no, none of them had shaped Billy more than a group of women from Weymouth who were terminally ill with cancer. Particularly a lady called Maxine, who loved Dolly Parton. She had breast cancer and had been given only a short time to live.

I guess we all struggle to say that which we need to to the ones we love the most, those who need to hear it. So often we are raised in silence, to do the 'right thing' and what I mean by that is we say nothing at all. The women who attended the song-writing workshops that Billy conducted at the Trimar Hospice in Weymouth during February 2005 had other ideas though. Mr Bragg was invited to take part in the project by Rosetta Life, a charity dedicated to helping those facing terminal illness to share their experiences through the medium of art, poetry, film or song. Every Friday morning for six weeks, he worked with half a dozen women who came to the hospice for palliative care as they fought against the effects of breast cancer.

Billy said that after a couple of weeks of talking about the process of song- writing and a few singalongs, the ‘Friday Girls’ began opening up to the idea of writing a song. Maxine Edgington had the clearest idea of what she wanted to do. In their first one-on-one session, she pulled a framed picture out of her bag and said ‘Look, I’ve been given six months to live. I don’t want to mess about. I want to write the song of this picture’.

When her condition was diagnosed in November 2004, Maxine’s thoughts turned immediately to how she would be remembered, particularly by her fifteen year old daughter, Jessica. Determined that Jess should have positive memories of her after the grieving was over, Maxine commissioned a professional photo shoot which produced beautiful images of mother and daughter smiling together, looking as if they had not a care in the world. This was how she wanted to be remembered. As Maxine said ‘Cancer is terrible, but at least it gives you the chance to put things right with those you love’

Billy performed the song and a few thousand people stopped and wept....the line that broke me was, 'The hardest part of living is giving back that which has been given.' hmmm....

...very much, heaven in ordinary...

So, i guess Gb is a place where strangers don't feel so strange, a thin sacred safe place for those who live in fear of themselves. And somehow it allows us to see that our lives are a beautiful mess, the way they should be...and that's alright, that's ok...because that causes us to kneel, and that my friends is surely the beginning of becoming whole...

I left this years festival recognising more than ever that God lies right here beside us in the gutter, whilst grace like a mother holds us closer than any mary could....my only disappointment was not getting enough space to chew that fat with such good friends as The Very gifted Mr Wroe Shirley Maggie Markus Cary Lovely Jude Pete (though we did manage a couple of organic beers) Rollins Beautiful Steve and the kindly Mog....and yet again I didn't manage to get to the bloody provocative and fantastically good IKON ....next year....please

....it's late tonight, but I raise a glass as it raises me.....the following shots are by the wonderful Andy - he is available for Ok weddings (and other glam occasions).....and can be found at enquiries@s2design.co.uk

Off to a thin place...

2007-08-23T06:19:00.000+01:00

So in a couple of hours I get on a plane to join other great humans pulling together what I think is the mother of all festivals – Cheltenham Race Course every August Bank Holiday, for many, becomes the thinnest of places, and, (he says, with a hope resembling something the size of a mustard seed), this year will be no different.

There will be some 20,000 people drinking deep, many broken, some fixed (ish), quite a few lost, some found (ish), all searching, most wanting to cut loose and sing, and maybe just a few needing a secret and a quiet place, a place where their pilgrim dream can come alive. Whoever and however and for whatever reason we all gather doesn’t matter; what does matter is that we do make the journey, that we stand, sit, lay on the grass (or mud if the weather is crap) to learn, worship, drink, feast, but most of all, to laugh and cry…together.

Last year my great friend Pip and I compared the opening ceremony on main stage. The following was read by a beautiful young man who had been rescued from the children street gangs of Durban, South Africa. The wonderful Martin Wroe is the author...who else....

We are not on our own this weekend
We are together
We are not singing solo
We are a massed choir
We are not singing songs for ourselves
We are singing songs for each other
Songs of freedom
Because none of us is free
Until all of us are free
Songs of hope
About a movement of Jah people
Away from a land of war and greed
Away from a world policed by soldiers
From the heart of America
We are going to Exodus land
Where the song of redemption
Is not just for ourselves
But for our sisters and brothers in every country

Redemption songs
From South Africa to the Lebanon
From the Middle East to middle England
From the West Wing to the West Bank
From the House of Commons to the House of Big Brother
Songs of freedom, anthems of liberation
At Greenbelt 06
The sweet melody of emancipation
To hear how the hand of the Almighty
Can free this world from mental slavery
From physical slavery,
From emotional, political and economic slavery
From the slavery of the self
Into the freedom of Love
The freedom of Truth
Who will set us free
Give us your help good Lord
To sing these songs of freedom
We want to be
One Love, One Heart
We want to
Get together and feel alright
Cus way down inside us
And way out beyond us
All we ever knew was redemption songs
Songs of freedom
Redemption songs
Redemption to what we were made for
Dreamed for
Loved into being for
Redemption from slavery and drudgery
From envy and vanity
Redemption from materialism and consumerism
From sectarianism, pessimism and
Loony fundamentalism
Redemption Songs
Where all of us are free
Where we can
Get up, Stand up,
Stand up for the rights
Of the people that Jesus Christ remembers
Even if everyone else forgets them
A song of
Redemption in the poor world
From slavery to the rich world
A song of redemption in the rich world
From slavery to false dreams
We want to hear how the hand of the Almighty
Can free this world from mental slavery
We want to
Get up, Stand up
And not give up the fight
A song about a world where
No woman, no man, no child
Does no crying no more
A song of redemption
where all people choose to
Do justice
Love mercy
Walk humbly and
Live generously
On the good earth
You have
Loaned us
A song of freedom from addiction
To substances which are choking our planet to death
A song of redemption where
Every little thing’s gonna be alright
A song saying thanks and praise to the Lord
And we will feel alright
Saying let’s get together and feel alright
Cus our hands will be made strong by the hand of the Almighty
All we ever had
Redemption Songs
Won’t you help to sing these songs of freedom
All we ever had
Redemption songs
One love, one heart
Let’s get together and feel alright
Give thanks and praise to the lord
And it will be alright
Give thanks and praise to the lord
Cus all we ever had was songs of freedoms
Redemption songs...

Time for our bones to be shaken...again

Here's a glimpse of this wonderful festival......more here when I return in a week

Eddie's heaven....

2007-08-17T07:09:00.000+01:00

'There's little white lights everywhere
Your childhood dog in Dad's old chair
And more memories than my heart can hold
When Eva's singing "Fields of Gold"

...in my heaven.'
(Mary Chapin Carpenter)

I read a remarkable short story this week whilst in London Town. It was truly breathtaking, writing at its finest, story telling at its most intoxicating. Dana blogged, 'sometimes, (though when I think about it, this seems to have happened to me more than sometimes) you find a timely more meaningful little nugget left behind. Initially, you pick it up thinking it will simply be entertainment only to realize it has a lingering effect. The message from the story stays with you. The character slips under your skin. And you quickly realize your perceptions may have been nudged in a slightly different direction than you had anticipated........... Good thing I had already read all of Maeve's books. Out of the dozen or so sitting in the pile which I had never read, I chose the right one. Or it chose me......

I will not try to review it (the five people you meet in heaven: Mitch Albom) - that's the thing about a story, a parable; if you’ve got to explain it, don’t bother. Small stories with big points - they hold a strange dichotomy, part sad, part funny – culminating with the sting in the tail. Ben Okri suggests that the storyteller is one who inspires far more than the one who is inspired, the one who remoulds so that the world becomes transformed....Okri further suggests that ‘stories are the secret reservoir of values: change the stories individuals and nations live by and you change the individuals and nations.’ Stories are complex and may not be immediately self revealing, but may leave the listener somewhat undecided and needing to do further reflection and work.

For the record, I reckon the parables of Jesus are more persuasive than his miracles.....

so, here's a couple of paragraphs to wet you appetite....

'Young men go to war. Sometimes because they have to, sometimes because they want to. Always, they feel they are supposed to. This comes from the sad, layered stories of life, which over the centuries have seen courage confused with picking up arms, and cowardice confused with laying them down.'

'There are no random acts. That we are all connected. That you can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind.'

Dovetailed with these gems Frank McCourt says that author Mitch Albom 'takes us to a new level; that no one is born with anger. No story stands alone. But it's the story itself, the life of Eddie, that will keep you up nights, because it's the story of anyone who takes chances with love and adversity.'

.....truly a tale to keep by your side when you are lost, a story you will return to again and again, because, as Amy Tan suggests, it possesses the rare magic to let you see yourself and the world anew...

5am dreaming....

2007-08-10T05:02:00.000+01:00

...I awake having dreamed of this beautiful woman. A couple of years ago I was sitting in a bar in Dar E Salaam drinking Serengeti beer pondering the aching and longing of the regal and beautiful Africa...This is Suzan Segu, she is one of so so many whose life is now fucked beyond what you and i can imagine, she will die soon - she may have already - and leave 5 children... I wonder to what?

Here is another diary exract from the visit to East Africa...

Day 11: Shattered Life: HIV/Aids
Every day 8,000 people die of HIV. 3,000 children become orphans. 14, 000 more people are infected. Only 5% of HIV-positive people who need help get it and world governments spend US$2.6 billion on defence.

Today was the day I had been looking forward to and dreading. I had never before spent time and listened to the stories of people infected with the awful disease of HIV/Aids. Tanzania is among countries in Africa where there are reports of increased risks of HIV infection to women as a result of violence during sexual encounters with family.

This is not what I expected to hear (even though I wasn’t really sure what I would learn this day). We are informed of women and girls being raped by ‘husbands and sundry’. Stories of husbands sodomising spouses, and we are told of bad traditions, and other violent acts, all of which, fuel the spread of HIV infection to the innocent women we meet (and thousands more we don’t).

We are spending a couple of days with The Anglican Church of Tanzania (ACT), one of Christian Aid’s long-standing partners in this country. It is composed of sixteen dioceses throughout the country, and their development vision is a holistic one that calls for an integrated mission of the church to cater for the needs of all in the community regardless of race or religion.

HIV/Aids is one of the top priorities of the ACT programme. Their objectives are to increase awareness of the pandemic, particularly to train religious leaders (of different faiths) to teach the basic facts as opposed to the misconceptions most people have regarding HIV/Aids. Pastoral counselling and homecare is an essential part of the rehabilitation of people suffering from this disease. The dignity of humanity is of paramount importance. What is needed (and what we hear is happening) is that real, positive change is giving more power and confidence to women, which brings a culture of change that transforms relations between men and women within communities at all levels of society.

Through education and courage to challenge systems, which bring social and legal reform, a greater awareness banishes ignorance to the backwaters of culture and empowers particularly women in this struggle. In short it allows the praxis of the theology of hope. That hope, which from within this age of Diaspora, sets free self-surrender and sacrifice for an age that stands on the knife-edge of tomorrow. The work of ACT is giving birth to a remarkable self-realization for these broken women of Tanzania. From the misery of self-estrangement and hopelessness they now see a horizon of a new beginning – even from within their illness.

Yet when you look deeper into the reasons why? You realise that the problem is not just about Aids it’s about poverty. As photojournalist Don McCullin describes: ‘this isn’t just a medical situation. It’s a combination of things. But the primary cause is poverty, which leads to hunger and despair.” Neema takes us to Huduma Afya Maendeleo Kwa Watu Wanndishi Vinavyosababisha Ukimwi, which is a centre for Aids victims to gather together for support, education, friendship and love. These ingredients allow something very special to take place – dignity in life. We meet with a group of women, all of whom have tragic stories to tell, all of whom are living with full blown Aids, all of whom (bar one) will be leaving children behind when they die – this they say is the hardest part of living with the disease. I stop writing at this point because there are no words to describe how I feel.

Two years later? This issue, much like the Parable of the Good Samaritan I preached on a few weeks back, is not about charity...it's about justice. Am gonna say that again....it's not about charity, it's about justice.

Imagine

2007-08-05T23:27:00.000+01:00

It's late and I'm drinking cold Corona. Here's a random thought - the essential contact of soul to soul between humans has disintegrated and all we're left with is a very cruel alternative.....just not sure what it is.....feels like I'm driving a stolen car... my soul is thirsty now, for the intimate embrace and understanding....truth is, it's too easily erased....

thanks to my friend Martin for saying my prayers....AGAIN

"So I'm just thinking to myself, right...
I'm thinking that John Lennon said,
'Imagine there's no heaven...'
But I'm thinking, 'Get lost, John - I think I
might imagine thre is'....

A place where the buses run on time,
and women walk safe after dark.
Where eating chocolate reduces cholesterol,
smoking is relaxing but doesn't cause cancer,
and you can't get headaches or hangovers.

I'm thinking of a place where nurses earn as
much as company chairmen,
policemen are liked but not really necessary
and teachers don't want to be anything else.
Where children run multinationals for fun
and grown-ups are sent to bed every time
they're rude.

A place where you can be busy
if you want too be,
but you can buy extra time when you need it
(from an extra time shop).

A place where you can go to sleep
when you're tired,
deep, deep sleep so you wake up feeling like
you've had a life transfusion
like your life has been heated up.

I'm thinking of a place where nobody notices
their nakedness
and species aren't endangered.
Where you've got all shapes and sizes...
but no one great or small.
Where people meet you
and don't even notice your bone structure
or your colour
because they're so struck by your soul.
Where they hear your spirit not your accent
and everyone knows that everyone's only a
mere immortal.

Of course
this heaven is not a religious place.
I mean there'll be no Jehovah's Witnesses at
your door (who needs a witness when Jehovah's
down the road?)
and God won't be a rumour because he'll have
a front door.

You won't have to pray because you can talk.
There is no need for churches,
mosques or temples.
No one tells you how to live your life
because no one needs to.
There'll be no-streets of gold
or pearly gates or harps,
no big dad god and little boy god
on matching thrones.
No regrets
but a place where every time you bump into a
"why"
you can feel a "because".

There will still be bad language.
Words like bomb and bullet and rape.
There will even be the odd four-letter word
...hate,
for example.
But some words will not be able to be spelled
at all
...fear,
poverty,
pain,
death,
because these words will come from
an ancient language
no longer understood
occasionally studied but never spoken.

I'm imagining a place called heaven.
A place where you can eat chocolate
and fight heart disease,
take a long slow drag on a fag
to cure someone of cancer,
climg through the air on wings like eagles,
run but never get tired.
(Martin Wroe - When You Haven't Got A Prayer: A journalist talks to God, Lion Publishing, 1997)

ps, the shot was taken in Zanzibar

Beauty, reflection....oh, and an award

2007-07-30T06:04:00.000+01:00

'The nature of love is this, that it attracts to beauty and links the unbeautiful with the beautiful.'
(Marsilio Ficino)

Only when the clamor of the outside world is silenced will you be able to hear the deeper vibration
(Sarah Ban Breathnach)

Paris has kindly honoured me with the Blogger Reflection Award. Thank you, I am seriously chuffed.

Here are my 5 reflective winners (this was not an easy task - there are so many good blogs that provide daily L5 musing:

Jen's word's and pictures feed my soul and nourish my heart like no other blog. What Jen has been through has claimed better souls than mine, but she is a remarkable human whose work always inspires and whose wisdom from struggles has been clean air in a world where most of the air is too angry to breath. She is out there on her own, no-one comes close

Pip is the Godfather of L5, deep, provocative conversations and reflections (like the one today 2 Aug 07 - if this doesn't draw you to the divine with tears, well, you don't have a pulse) that leave you breathless. He is my friend and mentor. I love him.

The Father is a dear dear human who, in truth, doesn't blog enough - but as musicians will tell you - when it comes to greatness, sometimes less is more. He is a sensitive, kind heart whose insight into the road less travelled is a constant inspiration to me.

Dana (aka awareness) is a Canadian fireball with the compassion of a carpenter who spoke love in riddles - she kind of does the same thing - A beautiful soul...

Anna is a remarkable talent - her pictures constantly evoke departures, take me on a journey of belonging and questions of beauty and love....sometime we don't need words

Now it's up to the five of you to nominate five deserving winners. The Blogger Reflection Award rules are: "This award should make an individual reflect upon five bloggers who have been an encouragement, a source of love, impacted you in some way and who have provided a Godly example. In other words, five dear bloggers whom, when you reflect upon them, you are filled with a sense of pride and joy... of knowing them and being blessed by them.”

Once you have chosen five bloggers, write at least a paragraph about each one; link this post, so others can read it and the rules; leave your chosen bloggers a comment, informing them of their award and place the award icon on your website

Inspired by my lovely friend, I re-read a book by Father O'Donohue that I liberated from his house last year.....

here is the wisdom of this remarkable mystic....

"While beauty gladdens our hearts, it makes us lonely too for what cannot be. True beauty is woven through the heart of life and is ever engaged with forces of ignorance, darkness, ugliness and negativity; yet domination and power are not beauty's way. beauty works from within these conflicts of forces and her brightening may or may not appear.

Where beauty seems absent she is often hidden and still at work in the slow industry of transformation. So much of beauty is not immediately apparent and indeed it could take a long time before it becomes visible. it often takes a lot of struggle and committed attention and generosity, even sacrifice, in order to create beauty. This work of beauty is slow and patient; it is the transformation through which the darkness of suffering eventually glimmers with the learned refinement of true radiance.

Ths soul that struggles for the emergence of beauty reaches towards God and labours on that threshold between visible and invisible, time and eternity."

Oh, to have insight like so.....the promise of possibility. I guess Dostoevsky had it right....'Perhaps it is beauty that will save us in the end.'

The boy above is Amos, he was seven when I took this photograph - he was one of the young boys who survived in the village i spoke of in my last post...he is beautiful, and one day may just live up to his names sake - i hope so......

It seems i have been nominated for another award...will be back later to comment and honour 5 others.....see told you i would

Lydia

2007-07-24T08:44:00.000+01:00

"Please do not leave us. We do no want to remain cripples, we wish to get up and walk."
(Lydia)

Ok am bloody frusrated (what's new) I came across a picture on a disc the other day and remembered the aching words above before leaving West Africa a few years ago....thought I would blog a couple of days of my diary and I wanted to show you this regal woman called Lydia - well, sadly I can't the file is too big and when I downsize the image becomes poor (bugger!) - so instead you get another regal woman. I never knew her name, she sold bannanas on the street, and as we hit a red light in Tamale i bought some from her and quickly then took this shot.....she spoke no english, if only those eyes could speak...

Day 4
There is something remarkably amusing about a journey to a remote African village which gives you more up’s and downs than a day out at Alton Towers. As we drive deeper and deeper into the jungle the small communities we observe begin to resemble the villages from my childhood memories of Tarzan films. A bus supposed to carry 8 people is carrying 15 to the isolated village of Agazo.

The people of Agazo have been driven from the land they have farmed for generations. An American Company bought the land and forced them to leave – the trouble with this is that these dear people have no concept of ‘owning’ land – land is a gift from God, not something that can be bought and sold. I reflect on how many indigenous cultures we have destroyed - have you ever wondered what a fence means to a nomadic people?

When Christian Aid partners Development Action Association arrived in the village the community, who had been threatened with legal action, retreated to a small clearing in the jungle. There the men would not speak to anyone, these are proud people – much more than their land had been taken from them. Huts were built and the villagers hid inside. Soon children became malnourished, and tragically some didn’t survive by the time DAA arrived. We were the first white people to speak in their village.

We are welcomed by the Chief with drumming, dancing and song. Then, as is custom, we settle in a circle under a tree to share food and stories. The Chief of the village tells us that their Cassava crops had been bulldozed half way through the season - they had been left with nothing – no crops, no land. We hear that Christian Aid (through the partnership) secured a plot of land, and helped with the acquisition of a grinding machine for the Cassava, enabling faster and more efficient processing of the crop, so producing a better quality commodity so becoming more marketable. This is both the genius and simplicity of Christian Aid – it is an invisible partner providing funds for local people to work their way out of poverty. The partners know and understand the people and the land, and as a consequence the projects have a very high rate of success. The people of Agazo are testament to this.

Our driver Samuel seems to be all things to all men. Not only is he a cook, he is also a mechanic, which comes in rather handy as our exhaust falls off with the weariness of the return journey. We finally arrive at our ‘hotel’ to find three French men and their landrover about to set off for Brazil via a big ship and the Atlantic. It seems these able fellows have driven from Bordeaux through Spain, Morocco, and the Sahara desert - then on into Senegal, the Gambia, finally arriving in Ghana. They were now having a few days rest before embarking on a trip that would take them around South America. Their enthusiasm is only marred tonight by the fact that they have run out of Claret – all the same they give me a glass – I am so pleased I actually think about kissing them, think I might have if it had been a better vintage!

Day 8
We rise early. A 10 hour drive awaits us over the kind of terrain Chris Rea must have had in mind when he wrote ‘The Road to Hell’. We leave Kumasi for Tamale, heading for the Muslim north. As I gaze out of our window I see a weary, worn people desperate to carve a life out of this shanty jungle. This wilderness is claustrophobic. Every space is littered with steel, wood, tyres, bricks and crates – interspersed amongst this seemingly hopeless jungle are people’s homes. Bits of wood, mud and tin and stone thrown together are the ingredients of that sacred space called community. I’m beginning to understand that real poverty is not about having no home or no food and clothes. Real poverty is where there are no choices. As we drive through Esase, a dust village where children at best walk around in old dirty under pants, I realise that this community has been robbed of the greatest seed planted deep within each of us – choice. I have lost count of how many children I have seen with a lost distant look in their eyes. They look for a tomorrow that may never come, somehow dazed, confused and exhausted by their very existence.

Over breakfast this morning, on a small television with a coat hanger for an ariel, we were subjected to African T.V. evangelists. I fear once more the West is now beginning to bring a curse much greater than the greedy foreign policies and trade laws. It is the curse of pharisaic dogma born of the West’s prosperity gospel. For too long now there have been too many Pharisees and not enough prophets in the church. Few are willing to ‘stand in the gap’. The tragedy is that most of the Pharisees see themselves as prophets.

There is no quick solution here. Greedy foreign policy and corrupt Trade laws make for a bitter cocktail – but drink it the African people must. Trade should be for life; not profit at any expense, and the only way in which these people will find themselves living with choice is if rich multinationals in the West (and the list is long) understand this and the WTO restructure their rules so providing an environment which allows the developing world to shape their own destiny – the West must yield to an economic system where fair trade is the norm.

The last few days have not been about espoused theories, but rather about befriending people and allowing them to cause me to colour outside my lines. Pastor John explains that through the partnership new hope has been born and that ‘we love you because you first loved us…you first loved us in our poverty. Sometimes sacrifice is not measurable. The Saviour has come so that we, the poor, may live before we die.’ As we prepare to leave this painfully beautiful land a dear lady whose life and community have been transformed by the projects supported by the capital raised during Christian Aid Week shares with us a message for those back home. ‘Please do not leave us. We do not want to remain cripples, we wish to get up and walk.'

What was it that fella who worked with wood in Palestine 2000 years ago said? Love your neighbour as yourself? Something like that wasn't it.....

At Death's Window

2007-07-20T08:30:00.000+01:00

I know this might be a strange post on the back of me remembering my grandfather - then again I am strange. It's my article for the paper tomorrow, as usual blog land will have it first - helps me gauge the temperature...

It started with a sentence that might last a lifetime and has left me too tired for sleeping and too wounded to hurt. I reached page ninety-eight but can’t go on. Page ninety-nine will be a long time coming, and to top it all I am probably on a hiding to nothing writing this.

The day began like any other, with coffee as I boarded the train bound for Gatwick’s South Terminal, thanks to Apple, Louden Wainwright III, was singing into my ears, and I was enjoying the latest offering from one of my favourite writers, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Annie Lamott. That was until I got to Chapter eight.

The chapter begins with a confessional statement. ‘The man I killed did not want to die, but he no longer felt he had much of a choice.’ See, not your normal opening sentence in a book about faith is it? Annie then goes on to tell the story of a couple she calls Mel and Joanne. How a once articulate, strong, fit, comical man had become deficient, still functioning and resilient, but having to retreat to a place his mind and body had never inhabited before - like a wardrobe long empty of someone, gradually losing shape and purpose – had decided to cut short his stay on this earth.

Now, as I write this in an airport terminal, I have no clue as to whether assisted suicide is legal in California, but to cut a short chapter of her book even shorter – it has to be said, that (as Annie in a painfully beautiful way writes) Mel and Joanne agreed to Annie, through, ‘wily, underground ways’ coming up with a prescription that would cover enough pills (which included barbiturates) for a lethal dose - one evening a meal was prepared, goodbyes said and presents given before Mel called time and took a cocktail that put him to sleep, the kind from which he would never wake.

It seems assisted suicide laws around the world are clear in some nations but unclear – if they exist at all – in others. Just because a country has not defined its criminal code on this specific action does not mean all assisters will go free (am assuming Annie thought this through). It is a complicated state of affairs. A great many people instinctively feel that suicide and assisted suicide are such individual acts of freedom and free will that they assume there are no legal prohibitions. This fallacy has brought many people into trouble with the law. In America there have been - and are - retired doctors who will travel to different places to help dying people who are in great suffering to escape from their pain-wracked bodies.

It seems there is a growing opinion in most of the Western world that not having a choice is an abuse of civil rights. In the coming years I think we will find there will be a more welcome climate for law reform in the area of death and dying. The reason? It is fast becoming (for many) our ultimate civil liberty – the right to die in a manner of one’s own choosing.

Yet why is something deep within still feeling very uncomfortable and awkward about this subject? Well, I guess my theological response to it. For all my opinions, which sit left of centre, I can be pretty orthodox on some issues. I still believe that only God can make an end to human life since God alone is its creator. To live as human beings also means having the will to be healthy; to be man and woman as God has created us to be. The biblical witness does not describe any point at which a human life becomes deprived of sanctity because of disease or disability, nor does it suggest that the value of human life depends on an ability to perform behaviors deemed necessary for human relationships.

I recognize that this is an obscure, maybe disjointed piece of work – confused even; but then again I am if I am honest. I mean, what does it mean to be alive but not living? Is there a point where we keep people alive but deny them life? These are big questions to which I am not sure I have conclusive answers. Maybe the job of an artist is not to bring us to a point of conclusion or black and white answers; but rather a point of departure with questions. Maybe they are the invisible signposts and nourishment for the road ahead, maybe. So will I go back to the book? I think I will, Annie has done her job well – I am out of my comfort zone and I want to know where we go on the next part of the journey.

My final thought? Faced with the existence of human suffering, we are called to pattern ourselves after the ministry of Jesus Christ, to heal and to comfort. And that kind of compassion compels us to bring relief to those who suffer, but I think also believe we should pursue, not merely reject, the reasons they may give to justify a wish to die. Doing this we may uncover fears and witness the power of hope itself.

loss

2007-07-15T21:27:00.000+01:00

Sixteen years ago today we lost him.
A presence bigger and more full led him by the hand
to a different world.
‘Bid your troubled hearts be still’ we were told.
Meant well, but the void was too wide, the loss too deep.
His company was gone
My granddad finally could fight no longer and slipped
into a land where the grass, they say, is soft and green,
and the trees are tall and honey-filled.

The tears fell and fell and fell.
They fall now as I remember him with such affection.
His warmth and strength was infectious and so reassuring,
his faith so steadfast that I still reel back, it humbles
me so.
For years he hacked out the coal faces of South Yorkshire,
deep under ground with his bare hands.
Hands that were big and strong,
even in my later years as an adult mine were dwarfed
when he held them.

Then there was the playful mischievous side to Rex Chambers.
My father told me that he once emptied a carriage of a train
bound for Boscombe, convinced that it indeed wasn’t,
only to realise his mistake but to be too embarrassed
to admit to his error of judgement and so leave the majority
of the train bound for Middlesbrough instead!

Long before my time I have been told of occasions
where on holiday with the extended family
he would disappear without explanation for quite some time,
only to return to the beach with a supercilious grin on his face,
armed to the hilt with fish and chips for everyone…

I won’t go into his cooking experiments with ingredients
such as pigs trotters, bulls testicles and sheep’s brain!
I remember the man who worked from the early hours of the morning
until he fell asleep in his chair late at night.
I remember the man who could barely breath when he walked 5 yards
later in years having breathed in so much coal dust from the pit.
I remember the tears of frustration when he knew
his once strong body was beginning to really fail him.
I remember the man who on his deathbed asked his sister to
‘sing with him a while’ – the old rugged cross if my memory serves me well.

I remember a warm and strong man,
A trickster who enjoyed colouring outside the lines
And sixteen years ago today we said ‘see you soon lovely man,
see you soon…

Middle of the night ponderings

2007-07-11T03:52:00.000+01:00

Our answers are only as good as our questions....

Psychological self-harm and the internal gift of doubt

2007-07-08T09:48:00.000+01:00

I have been busy with lots of things of late - hence not much writing - re-read this piece I penned for GB a while back - thought I would put it out there in blog land.....

I had a conversation with God this morning. It went something like this: “Sat at my desk, very low and slightly confused. What am I about, what am I really doing with my life, and God, what am I trying to say with these tears rolling down my face? I don't know really. Maybe it's just that life is in the end ordinary. Maybe that's your gift?”

Maybe I'm just being selfish. Maybe I'm behaving like a spoiled child who expects and expects and expects. All I know is that I need you, and you can't really be there for me - but I guess you know all about that don't you. That's why I feel as though I'm being selfish. I suppose nothing can come between our hearts and minds except me. I seem to be very good at psychological self-harm right now, tormenting myself with images and circumstances that just aren't there. I give birth to the seeds of insecurity in my head and then, stupid fuck that I am, I water those seeds and allow them to germinate and grow, and before I know it they overcome me and I can't cut the weeds back at all. I suppose it's all about how we lose ourselves.

I guess most of the time I run not from others, but from myself. I know the barriers have to come down, but I just can't seem to be able to do it right now. Through it all though, I love you, your not so good friend, Paul”.

Don’t panic, I’m not on the edge of something silly, merely having a rough morning, a time of insecurity and doubt. Year after year my demons come and pay a visit. Sometimes just for the weekend, other times they really do outstay there welcome. My point? Doubt and the psychological self-harm it can do, but more importantly what we do with that wound. There is a place where missing the point becomes the beginning of the journey into the gift of doubt. There is also a place where we internally self-harm ourselves so much that we self-destruct and become so dysfunctional it’s difficult to regain that which has been taken.

Recently I was sat in an airport lounge drinking a beer (or three) and pondering life. This always happens to me when I travel. I think it’s something about standing on the threshold of the unknown, the threshold of challenge and change. I say this because of late I’ve been feeling like I have been in the middle of a voyage of missing the point.

What? Well, I used to have concrete doctrines on most issues of life, but these days I have more doubt than assurance in my life of ‘missing the point’. Confused? Me too. Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel everything so deeply, wish I could be more content, it’s as if my heart is too oversized for my fragile thin skin.

Sometimes I wish my skin were thicker, that I didn’t feel the pain or yearn for compassion of those, who just like me, are confused about what it means to be a human being. A consequence of this confusion is, quite understandably, doubt. Now, I was raised in a tradition that frowned upon doubt; that saw it as a sign of weak (or lack of) faith. These days though I’m not so easily persuaded. I think we may be underestimating its purpose, and dare I say it, missing its point.

I think doubt is the fire that purifies our faith. Tony Campolo even suggests in his book co-written with Brian Mclaren that ‘doubt burns up the hay, wood, and stubble, leaving behind pure gold’. We all experience our own high and low tides of faith and understanding, our dark night of the soul, but I really think that expressions of doubt (where we are blunt with big honest questions, rather than a blind spiritual dishonesty with pap answers) allow unparalleled spiritual nurture and growth.

Pip Wilson wisely observes that, ‘Being with humans who cannot do anything else other than leak fragility is hard hitting. But it is far less hard work than being with humans who have a front of being 'together' and 'stable' - when really they are hurting just like the rest of us – the wonder’ of vulnerability.’ I think that’s why God likes honest questioning, why we should see doubt ultimately as a gift. After all, we all get lost sometimes.

Of late I have been so tired, exhausted, done in, worn out, basically, I’m pooped. Almost to the point where I don’t know where I’m headed for anymore – life seems to be something passing me by. I can see other lives being lived out, but they almost feel as though they are in some kind of parallel world, that I can see them but can’t reach anyone.

Winter is coming, you can feel it, autumn, it seems, has given up her fight for another year. The things of the earth they make the claim, as Bruce Springsteen suggests, so that the things of heaven may do the same.

‘Life is a funny thing’ my Grandma used to say. Now I understand that only years coupled with (and maybe because of) wisdom can birth and give understanding to such a seemingly glib remark. Yet the cradle to the grave is a peculiar journey, and one of the most difficult qualities to be found is something I call hopeaholism. I’m not even sure it’s a real word, but then if Shakespeare could make words up, why can’t I?

You see, of late one particular question has been biting at my heels. How does one shift cultural conscience to allow in the confusion and at times hopelessness of our world? Well, I have come to think that maybe doubt and hope are inextricably linked, maybe even two sides of the same coin. This is also a theological dimension that lurks deep within our souls, a dimension that surely must be explored if we are to see the other side of that coin. What if it is God behind all these doubts and disillusionments? What if this is God’s peculiar way of revealing mystical truths to his peculiar people? It’s as if God uses our disappointments to actually allow us to glimpse hope and so ultimately lead us all to the point of being hopeaholics.

Maybe the reason is that when we doubt. When we have questions, we are humbled – admittedly perhaps even a little pissed off – but moreover we realise that we are small and the mystery of God is much bigger than our finite minds and weak hearts can comprehend. The flip side to this is that when we are sure of things we stop questioning, and actually if truth be told, we become conceited. In my 35 years on this planet I have met very few people who can dovetail ‘knowing it all’ with humility. Ego’s are swelled when we (think) we know it all. Yet we are usually brought to our knees when we recognise and accept our place in the grand scheme of things.

So maybe when we have the kind of conversations much like the one I had this morning, when we feel so lost that we just can’t go on God just might have the space to whisper into our souls. And maybe that whispering goes something like this prayer of Jen Gray: ‘If I could, I would sneak into your head and sweep out all the crap of your past. I would give your mind a clean room, allowing the company of truth. And the truth is, and always has been; that you are not bad, and that you are not going to hell, and you are enough. You can choose today to beat yourself up or you can choose today to value your being and create some magic. I hope you join me on the magical side.’

God intrigues me. And I wonder if Jesus ever missed the point like I do, I mean, is it a sin to miss the point? Isn’t it part of being human - to get things wrong from time to time - isn’t that how we grow? Winter can seem long, dark and shapeless, but its lack of colour does make spring something so much more indescribable, doesn’t it? As an aside I also wonder if it’s possible that God ever feels lonely...or is that just a human thing?

I do though think about how much I have blamed God for my own poor choices, and I’m sorry about that. Yet I do find it ironic that it has been in those moments when I have known humility most. And here is my real point about missing the point, about doubt and failure – it seems God knows this is the most effective way to transform our character to that of his of her own. (Did you know that in the New Testament Greek - God the Father and God the Son are masculine, but God the Holy Spirit is referred to in the feminine, interesting is it not?)

I talk of missing the point not to criticize, but invite us all to consider ways in which we just might be ‘missing the point’ – to share our journey of rediscovering what it is we’re supposed to be about in following Jesus on this road we call life – and more importantly that we don’t beat ourselves up and psychologically damage our soul because of it. As I finish this column I sense a time of quiet and waiting, the air here in Edinburgh (which is where I was traveling to when I began all this) is cold and tender. So, in the words of artist Michael Leunig, ‘Let it go. Let it out. Let it unravel. Let it free and it can be a path on which to journey’ – the internal gift of doubt.

Storms....

2007-06-29T16:47:00.000+01:00

George Herbert suggested that 'Storms make the oak grow deeper roots' - I think he may have been right - many a storm has passed this way of late, (my dad says it 'poshed' it down - not sure what he means) let's hope he was....(right that is, I mean Herbert not my dad).

Of all the places I have travelled in this world, there is one that moves me more than all the others put together and it's right here in Guernsey.

Walking up the steps of Tower Hill has become a very sobering experience. About half way up the steps is a plaque and its inscription describes the terrifying events of a day in July 1556 when three women were burned at the stake. What happened that day is a chilling rminder of what any religious right is capable of when given total control and power over communities.

Why is it many people shy away from mixing politics and religion? What is it that causes so many to keep these two sides of the same coin seperate? One could argue that maybe some people only entertain small talk and don't want to engage in a conversation of such potential diversity that the party might be spoilt.

The other night such an occasion arose. I suppose with Mr Blair moving on and Mr Brown moving next door, politics was on everyone's agenda as the boys tucked into chillied beef with udon. With a few religious convictions thrown in, it wasn't long before strongly held opinions were flying across the table.

The big disagreement stemmed from my opinion that state and Church should always be kept apart. Some, due to their belief that faith does in fact have real political implications, met this with great indifference. I don't disagree: you only have to look at someone like Martin Luther King Jnr to see that there is an integral connection between faith and politics; it's just I firmly believe that religion should inform politics not control it.

My worry is that the religious right has an obsession with taking over the world and I for one don't think this is at all theologicallly sound. The Church should be concerned with how it seasons the world rather than becoming its self-proposed dictator. In other words I believe the Christian mission to be more about quality rather than quantity. My point is that the Church's missionary vision should be one of a kingdom, not an empire - a subtelty which the Church has not always observed (again I refer to the plaque).

The big difference is that, and we see this all too clearly in todays world, an empire seeks to increase its own power and territory; a kingdom (God's anyway) does not need to gain the world, for that world is already God's. For me, it's more about dwelling within and carefully moulding culture. Didn't Jesus liken it to yeast working through a batch of dough, or a seed growing in secret (back to Coupland again)?

One of the main reasons William Temple was one of the most remarkable archbishops Britain has ever seen was because he proposed a pattern for society based on kingdom not empire values (personal freedom and dignity under God). His vision was based on a new partnership between government and faith groups.

So, in our contemporary context, this means the Church would reach out in respectful partnership with other faith traditions, inviting a new dialogue between religion and state about social and political morality. As for democracy, I agree with Jim Wallis, that, 'the biblical view of humanity suggests power and decision making should be decentralised and accountable, not because people are good but because we so often are not.'

A renewed ecumenical community has the ability to assist governments with new visions for a society desperately in need of them. Historically, religion has been a source of guidance for spiritual values and a brush with transcendence should call us to accountability. I remember a while back some timely comments from Rowan Williams regarding his desire to inspire a moral sensibility with ethics rooted in a transcendent reality. His comments were kindom comments not empirical ones.

What I have no desire to return to is what Philip Jenkins describes in his book 'The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity' - that the hugely influential roles and church leaders now play in the internal politics of American and African states draws 'telling comparisons with medieval Christendom.'

And after once more reading the plaque on Tower Hill, I am not sure that is a journey I want to make.......

My Secret

2007-06-24T08:59:00.000+01:00

Coupland may have written it....but i believe it, and it's my secret too:

"Now - here is my secret:
I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God - that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love."

(Douglas Coupland, Life After God)

it's catching

2007-06-20T02:35:00.000+01:00

...no words in the small hours.

But this morning I found some after reading some of the story of Job.

Maybe faith is not about avoiding failure, but rather what we believe and what we do when failure happens to us. Maybe that's what Job teaches us. What would we rather do: believe in a God who is surrounded by mystery and imagination and wonder, a God who allows us to experience failure as well as fulfilment? Or believe in a God who only deals with success stories?

Thinking

2007-06-16T10:51:00.000+01:00

There was a Greenbelt Management Group meeting last Monday night in London Town – great humans pulling together what I think is the mother of all festivals – Cheltenham Race Course every August Bank Holiday, for many, becomes the thinnest of places, and, (he says, with a hope resembling something the size of a mustard seed), this year will be no different.

There will be some 20,000 people drinking deep, many broken, some fixed (ish), quite a few lost, some found (ish), all searching, most wanting to cut loose and sing, and maybe just a few needing a secret and a quiet place, a place where their pilgrim dream can come alive. Whoever and however and for whatever reason we all gather doesn’t matter; what does matter is that we do make the journey, that we stand, sit, lay on the grass (or mud if the weather is crap) to learn, worship, drink, feast, but most of all, to laugh and cry…together.

And this has got me pondering in the light of the three readings from the First Sunday in Trinity. Imagine, for a moment, a faithful bunch of pilgrims hoping to learn more of the truth about God by attending closely to the liturgy of worship (whether in Parish Eucharist or the GB Arts Festival). I mean, imagine, for instance, we are confronted with three miracle stories. One say, about a bottomless flask of oil, another about a resurrection from the dead, and last, but not least, about a spiritual encounter with God.

Now imagine this merry band consists of people who, by virtue of their background and experience, find it (as, if I am brutally honest with myself from time to time, I do) almost impossible to believe in miracles, so they (dare I say we?) cannot help but view these stories as somewhat discomforting. Imagine then, that they give a quiet intellectual ascent to the possibility that God could do such things, but shy away from examining the stories too closely because of the embarrassing possibility that the stories will turn out to be false in some way, and that their quiet intellectual assumption will turn out to be insufficient to sustain their faith in Scripture, or even in God.

I have always been struck by the same question when it comes to this (and I now use myself, not some imagined gang, as the example): How can I discern the truth about God in texts I hear? The problem is not that my doubt gets in the way – the problem is that my fear of doubt gets in the way; that somehow the church has created an atmosphere in which diligent seeking after the truth is a risky project, one that could undermine one’s faith in God. Better, some say, to stick with hymn writer Newman:

And I hold in veneration,
For the love of Christ alone,
Holy church as his creation,
and her teachings as his own.

God only knows where thinking for ourselves might lead!!

I guess there is here a balance to be struck. I am not advocating unfettered flights of fantasy, nor even thinking madly outside the box. What I am suggesting is that, as a community within a tradition, we have a duty to think humbly but courageously about Scripture. And that thinking cannot begin if we deny before we start, our own deepest sneaking suspicions about God within the text.

To do this is I suppose to assume that our not spoken suspicions are somehow unacceptable (sinful even) – to God and the Church. And to do so is to assume that there is something unacceptable bout us – and whilst there is always room for improvement, to do that is to deny grace, the very heart of the Gospel, the Good News that we are loved and accepted by God just as we are…
…though tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt,
fightings and fears within, without;

Just as we are. ‘God wilt receive, wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve’; that is the bedrock of our faith. It’s only after we have sung these words, with all our heart, soul and mind and strength (all that it can muster anyway), that we can say with integrity, O Lamb of God I come; I come to learn from you in Scripture, to meet you in Communion, to be with you in prayer. The rest as my eccentric mad friend Terrance says is balderdash and piffle.

And in the light of this I was wondering what we might find if we come humbly and honestly to Scripture, despite our doubts and fears, or perhaps even because of them? Let me sneak a quiet assumption of my own: if we must talk in human images, then I say that the God who is powerful enough to do miracles is wise enough to recognise that a generation would arise for whom stories of miracles are hard to believe, a generation who would even think them suspicious, is wise enough to leave something in the texts other than evidence of her power. After all, God’s strength is perfected in weakness.

Miracle stories turn things on their head. Well, actually, quite the opposite. My priest has a lovely image of God in Christ turning everything ‘topsy-turvy’. I like to think that sin has tricked us all into walking around on our hands with our bums in the air and our faces to the ground – and into thinking that is normal and right. Miracle stories are then, designed to set us on our feet again. They are perhaps a special revelation, designed to reassert the fact that all things find their true meaning in God, not in what we call normal.

We think of generosity as unusual and often grudging, and let’s be honest, in this world, that’s pretty normal. But God’s generosity – true generosity, the hallmark, the benchmark, is completely different. Oil never ending and free of charge (George would never go for that!)

I guess the whole point is that whilst at times we need guidance we do actually need to own our faith not borrow someone else’s. To do that we need to talk, read, reflect, pray and talk some more – honestly – with each other. Honest opinions, honestly held, honestly expressed, are the seeds. Sown in the soil of honest listening and honest responding, they bring forth (somewhat miraculously) the fruit of the Spirit….

Toilet wisdom

2007-06-03T23:42:00.000+01:00

I guess we should take life very seriously - but ourselves? Hmmm, not so sure....anyhow, it's been a long weekend and I need to lighten up a little. So, here goes - a sunday question. What book resides in your loo? What are you reading as you sit.....?

For the record, I am reading 'Troublesome Words' by Bill Bryson

Today's word was:

filigree - its meaning? "for intricate or delicate ornamentation"

There, I guess we'll all sleep better tonight for knowing that....on this balmy sunday evening I would love to know what read resides by your toilet - very wierd i know...forgive me

Pentecost

2007-06-02T07:40:00.000+01:00

I have been mulling these thoughts since Sunday. Finally, six days later they spill out...

Take a wholesome glass of milk, add a single drop of vinegar, and you'll get an undrinkable beverage (ask my children - not that I do put vinegar in their milk - though now I am veering far from my point). The whole thing is spoiled. So it is with writing and speaking. A single drop of insincerity can make the whole thing unpalatable - and so it is also with most of life's endeavours. Whole painstaking efforts to produce that which is healthy and true - in this case (and very topical to where I live), raising cows, milking them, pasteurizing, packaging, marketing, transporting, refrigerationg, pouring, serving; reading, reflecting, studying, reflecting, writing, reflecting, rethinking, rewirting - can be so easily spoiled.

That which is good is so incredibly fragile.

Pentecost is a feast more easily spoiled than most, spoiled by a small misunderstanding with devastating consequences. And, like the souring of milk, they are generally irreversible. What should be the culmination of the most glorious season of the Church's year can become a day of shattered dreams so that we arrive at Trinity Sunday back where we started - mirred in quarrels and doubts rather than inspired by hopes and possibility.

Pentecost is not only the culmination of the Church's year; it is also the culmination of Jesus' ministry - the constitution of the Church - it's birthday if you like. A misunderstanding of this day sours our whole identity - makes us Christians distinctly unpalatable - to one another, and to the world.

There is no doubt that Pentecost has something to do with the Holy Spirit. But to my mind at least, the usual misreading, however, focuses too heavily on the gift of the Holy Spirit to the apostles and not enough on the rest of the story. it rushes past the details to settle on a visually startling image and thus presents itself as the crudest form of advertising. The following are a few points I think we too often overlook.

First, the Holy Spirit does not come down upon the Church, if by the Church you mean those who believe or those who have been baptised. The apostles gather to choose just one of those who 'accompanied us during all the time the Lord Jesus went in and out among us' in order to make up their numbers to twelve after the death of Judas. It is upon these twelve that the Holy Spirit falls, commissioning them with the special gift suggested by their name: I am not trying to teach my grandma how to suck eggs here, but the word apostle comes from the greek apostolos, meaning one who is sent; in this case, sent to proclaim the Gospel.

if one takes part of the story, and makes it the whole of the story, one ends up with a picture of the Church as a community of public speakers, of preachers and proclaimers (though we all love letter from America and 500 Miles). There are several things to say about this picture. Firstly, it is simply not realistic. Can you imagine everyone in your Church's standing up and performing this apostolic duty - I have seen some places and it has not been a helpful experience for growth. So if you are left thinking either that the Church is not what it should be, and spend most of your time feeling guilty for not mentioning Jesus to your friends, your boss, colleagues, employees, and any Parthians, Medes or Elamites you might happen to run into; or else trying pursuing some distinctly narrow mission plan that encourages you to do just that - whether or not the Spirit has given you utterance. Personally, I find this vision not only unrealistic, but a dangerous distortion of the Pentecostal vision.

I think we need to notice, secondly, that the Holy Spirit does not give the gift of inspired speech to all the faithful. It is not given to those who lost the ballet in the upper room; nor any of the other 'devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem.' Instead, they become the audience. And this is a very curious line, because Jerusalem was filled with Pagans. One might have thought that, not only failing to believe in Jesus (whom most of them had never heard of) but also failing to beleive in God, they were more in need of the Gospel than anyone. Instead, through the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the apostles preach to Israel, to those who wrestle with God.

And, of course, that is how we think of the Church - as the new Israel. As far as this story goes, we need to see ourselves as the 'Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs', though today our rich diversity may be described by different labels.

These people, too, receive a gift from the Holy Spirit. They receive the gift that truly constitutes the Church; not the ability to speak, but the ability to listen, and in listening, to hear, and in hearing to understand. If you read just a little further in Acts, we discover that it is these people who receive the Holy Spirit; these people touched by God who devote themselves "to the apostles' teachng and to fellowship; to the breaking of bread and to prayer." There will be some called out and given the gift to make known the works of God in words, but it is a greatly overrated vocation, with a huge burden let me tell you; and it does not excuse those of us so called from the deeper need to listen, to love, to break bread and to pray.

Jesus says, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments, and I will give you another counsellor to be with you forever - the Spirit of Truth." Those who would heed this councel must listen, and listen intently. False ideas come from a failure to listen. And a single falsehood can poison a whole community.

In the end, I guess to listen is to love...

Now I have got that off my chest I can go about doing manly things like drilling and watching england get thumped again by South Africa whilst drinking too much black stuff....

Oh, I knicked the image from my friend Chris George - not my shot today...

whoever it was....

2007-05-28T23:48:00.000+01:00

I don't know if you have ever been in that place where there are so many words vying for pole position that in the end no words will come at all... that's how I have been for a week now

these words of Rumi help my troubled soul this night...it's all i have

'All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.

This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all'.
(Rumi)

oh, and one more thing. I agree with Franklin, Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy

....through this world I stumble....sometimes sleep won't set us free....

Never Gonna Happen Dinner

2007-05-20T07:12:00.000+01:00

Mrs Merton used to say, "let's have a heated debate" - it seems the whole "Fuck it, you can come in" and gay issue has almost got us on her sofa (apologies for those who have never heard of the tongue in cheek chat show this side of the pond)

Anyway, it's got me thinking - I had dinner with a bunch of people I never spent more than 5 minutes with last night - 6 very different people than I would normally gravitate toward and our conversation touched on every topic from football to homosexuality and everything in between. In fact it was very Level 5.

And as I drink my Earl Grey this morning I wonder, if we could invite anyone to dinner who would they be. I was in London Town last week Hence the pics of Liverpool Street Station - they make a great tryptic, but I can't get them to line up side by side) and had a Brick Lane curry with 6 good friends, but I wonder if we could invite 6 people (alive or dead) who we have no real chance of dinning with, who would they be.....answers on a comment please

Here this morn are my six 'never gonna happen' dinner guests:

My grandma Elsie - she was so so warm, she died when I was out of the country and I never got to say goodbye, there is so much I would like to say to her - she would be sat beside me

Joan of arc - i would want to know more of those voices she heard...

Tom waits - surreal, off the wall - love his story telling, oh, and he could play the piano too

Mike yaconelli - my dear late friend, many times I have wanted his councel of late, sadly I have it no more

Desmond Tutu - I would give good money to see him smile and hear his infectious laugh

Helen mirren - oh my lord, i have had more than a crush on this woman since puberty, she can act a little too

So (now on my 3rd cup of earl grey), I wonder who you would invite...

ps, talking of dining with lovely people Jude sent me this pic of Mr Lawson and me having dinner, he was in Brick Lane on monday - as pip would say, he is beautiful

language

2007-05-13T08:49:00.000+01:00

I remember when I was in theological College the first piece of writing I was asked to accomplish was my testimony. I remember the fall-out from fellow students who couldn't believe they had been graded so low, because of the 'Damascas Road' conversion they had experienced...it was only when it was pointed out that to us that it wasn't our stories that were being assessed but rather how our stories were being told...

Brennan Manning suggests ‘The question for all of us is what we will really aim at next. If all we are going for is placid decency, routine prayer, well-behaved worship, and comfortable compassion, then we have effectively parted company with the shipwrecked and have no fellowship with the pearl-finder.’

'I didn't go to the flea market the week of my abortion. I stayed home, and smoked dope and got drunk, and tried to write a little, and went for slow walks along the salt marsh with Pammy. On the seventh night, though, very drunk and just about to taking a sleeping pill, I discovered that I was bleeding heavily. It did not stop over the next hour. i was going through a pad every fifteen minutes, and I thought i should call a doctor or Pammy, but I was so disgusted that I had gotten so drunk one week after an abortion that I just couldn't wake someone up and ask for help. I kept changing Kotex, and got very sober very quickly.

Several hours later, the blood stopped flowing, and I got in bed, shaky and sad and too wild to have another drink or take a sleeping pill. I had a cigarette and turned off the light. After a while, as I lay there, I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner, and I just assumed it was my father, whose presence I had felt over the years when I was frightened and alone. The feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there - of course, there wasn't. But after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond a doubt that it was Jesus. I felt him surely as I feel my dog lying nearby as I write this.

And I was appalled. I thought about my life and my brilliant hilarious progressive friends, I thought about what everyone would think of me if I became a Christian, and it seemed an utterly impossible thing that simply could not be allowed to happen. I turned to the wall and said out loud, "I would rather die."

I felt him sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut, but that didn't help because that's not what I was seeing him with.

Finally I fell asleep, and in the morning, he was gone.

This experience spooked me badly, but I thought it was just an apparition, born of fear and self-loathing and booze and loss of blood. But everywhere I went, I had the feeling that a little cat was following me, wanting me to reach down and pick it up, wanting me to open the door and let it in. But I knew what would happen: you let a cat in one time, give it a little milk, and then it stays forever. So I tried to keep one step ahead of it, slamming my houseboat door when I entered or left.

And one week later, when I went back to church, I was so hungover that I couldn't stand up for the songs, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which i just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convince me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or 'something' was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling - and it washed over me.

I began to cry amd left before the benediction, and I raced home and felt the little cat running along at my heels, and I walked down the dock past dozens of potted flowers inder a sky as blue as one of God's own dreams, and I opened the door to my boathouse, and I stood there a minute, and then I hung my head and said, "Fuck it: I quit." I took a long deep breath and said out loud, "All right. You can come in."

So this was my beautiful moment of conversion.'
(Anne Lamott: Travelling Mercies - Some Thoughts On Faith)

In a dark time...disappointment with God

2007-05-09T09:47:00.000+01:00

In truth I am unsure as to what has spawned this pondering – some nights I am kept awake by my thoughts, struggles, guilt, pain, and at times, if I'm honest, what seems my joke of a life.

I guess for Centuries we humans have been haunted by fundamental questions. Who are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going? Is there a God? And more importantly if there is, how do we connect with that God? Theodore Roethke suggests to us that in a dark time the eye begins to see. For many of us the world may feel remarkably dark at the moment, and the idea that some deity may be ‘out there’ holding the ‘royal flush’ hand of life for us may seem a little distant. But in the same way a map never just shows you where you are, where you want to go, and how you get there, faith is more than just communicating verbally with a transcendent God. Faith evokes travel, exotic places and the allure of the unknown. The big question it seems is; do we deny ourselves the chance to hide from this?

Hope it seems is, in some sense, about how we invest universal spiritual acts and truths with particular meanings. In his painting, ‘Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?’ the artist Paul Gauguin seems to be wrestling between the often disorientating nature of human life and nihilistic despair. There is a wanderlust and disappointment in his questions which many of us will relate to. But here’s the thing. No-one truly understands ‘hope’ found in the light until they have had to remember it in the darkness. If the gospel is hope then it has to start reaching into those dark places we would rather not visit. Not just the geographic dark places; but those dark places of the soul where our resident demons and Pharisees cause havoc.

For within our humanity something Divine is at stake. It seems to me that God is hiding in our world and our task is to let the Divine emerge from our actions. Is it not true that all of us, at some time, have experienced moments in which we have sensed a mysterious ‘waiting’ for us? Maybe meaning is found in sensing that demand and responding to it in some way. This type of faith is essential for daily living. It is the courage and tenacity to move forward despite both darkness and disappointment. Leonard Cohn frames this concept beautifully when he suggests that, ‘there are cracks, cracks in everything; that’s how the light gets in.’ Rabbi Niles Elliott Goldstein even goes as far as to suggest that ‘if God doesn’t exist in the shadows as well as in the light, then God doesn’t exist.’ And if that makes us feel uncomfortable then I suggest we return to the Psalms, particularly 139.

The truth is there are no easy answers when it comes to explaining dark times and disappointment – there may in fact be no answers at all, and the last thing I want is to dampen anyone’s faith, but I fear we may be missing the point. For if we yearn for the power of the prophets - their signs and wonders – then we yearn for the wrong thing. For if the prophets teach us anything, they teach us how to articulate aloud our disappointments, our big questions, when we feel abandoned by God. For in essence they deal with the apparent silence of God, and within that they also include God’s response to their own disappointment from dark times.

Philip Yancey says that faith means believing in advance what will only make sense in reverse. So emphasising that in fact we don’t love God because of what God gives, but rather for whom God is, and the darkness is a defining part of that.

Just maybe we need to spend less time thinking about what we see, and more time thinking about why we see it that way…

Perspective

2007-05-06T23:44:00.000+01:00

maybe one day everything in heaven comes apart...maybe - theological leanings and preferences mean jack shit when horrors like this in the algarve occur

too tired for sleep and too wounded to hurt...

for madeleine...come on god, come good with this one...

A Gay Cruise

2007-05-03T23:40:00.000+01:00

I decided to start my column for the paper again - this is saturday's piece for the religion page - thought blogland might want a preview. i know i will receive hate mail again, but I believe in this stuff

this is us, we, you and me together....one day we'll be home

ps, i had no image to put to these thoughts, so I pinched this from the great 'Banksy' - rest easy you all on this bank holiday weekend

‘The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes.’
(Marcel Proust)

Yesterday a cruise ship docked out in the bay. Nothing new about that I guess, but this ship is causing quite a commotion. To be accurate it’s not the ship but the people on it – all two thousand of them. Why? Well, for those who have been living on Mars recently they are all gay men.

And so once more it starts. I for one am tired with this debate; at least 40,000 people starve to death everyday, within much of the West, the poverty rate is on the increase, especially among children, and we have now begun to describe our societies as post-Christian. Yet it seems that most of the church are still preoccupied with an issue that Jesus doesn’t speak of in direct terms once – this issue though is not going away – so we must embrace it with the kind of sensitivity and compassion Jesus constantly showed to those who found themselves under Pharisaic judgement.

The biblical exegesis and moral theology that refer to homosexual behaviour has in fact caused a great deal of confusion (the story of Sodom has little to contribute to the argument - Jude says one thing, Ezekiel says something very different. Romans 1, is still, I admit, for many the most obvious defence of those against the rite of blessing for same-sex couples. Though I am now convinced that 1 Corinthians 6 refers to Temple prostitution, and 1 Timothy 1:9 has little to say about any loving commitment between two people). I have now come to question even more how far the contemporary expression of homosexual love in a committed relationship corresponds at all with the patterns of behaviour rejected in Leviticus and condemned by Paul.

I believe there are deep personal questions about integrity, honesty and justice which are barely being addressed by many in the evangelical community (of which I was a part for many years – I still think there is ‘good news’ to give). Homosexuality is not only, or even primarily, about sexuality. It is not even an ‘issue’. We are talking about people! When some Christians require others, as a test of orthodoxy, to make public statements about God’s law and to call all homosexual people to repentance, it feels to me like a high road to legalism.

Contrary to what some may think, I believe very much in the fundamentals of the Christian faith – ‘that we should love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul and mind’ and that, ‘we should love our neighbour as ourselves’. Jesus actually states that on these two commandments hang ALL the law and the prophets. He also says that, ‘whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you do unto me’. In other words, what was at the forefront of the mind and action of Christ was to serve the poor, help the widow and orphan, visit those in hospital and prison, work for peace and make known the good news of the gospel - sadly our unending debate on homosexuality does very little to alleviate the predicament of the poor.

With the current two opposing opinions there is bound to be some theological tension. In truth the two boats who departed the same harbour together a long time ago have veered away from each other – in other words they are sailing (and have been for some time) in different directions. Canon Gene Robinson once said that there have been gay priests and bishops for as long as any of us can remember – he at least is ‘just being honest about it.’ I realise that people are ‘desperate’ to be faithful to biblical text, but I can’t help but feel that there are too many stones flying around – and we do after all reside in glass houses!

Recently I heard someone a little more to the right of centre than I am say that the Bible called homosexuality an abomination (Lev 18:22). I have a few questions for people who think this to be true. I am interested in selling my daughter into slavery (Exodus 21:7), I wonder what a good price would be? Let me ask another. A friend of mine is a doctor and insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly says this person should be put to death. Touching the skin of a dead pig renders one unclean (Lev 11:7) – if they wear gloves can the rugby world cup still go ahead this year? And do whole communities have to come together to stone those who plant different crops side by side? I will end my point with this. Can I burn my mother in a small family gathering for wearing clothes made from two different threads?

So before you reach for the Christian platitudes, let’s dare to sift our own souls. Is there much there that is unhealed, unspoken, unforgiven? Faith in Jesus does not exempt us from traversing the deeper chasms of the psyche. Nor does it automatically protect us from the little deaths which rehearse us for the grand one. There can be no easy conclusion to this debate – I suspect that if we don’t weep as well as laugh, there will have been a failure somewhere.

Times of transition pass so quickly – they just seem to last a lifetime. It would appear, regarding homosexuality that we live in neurotic avoidance of its proximity. And yet without that ultimate transition, life becomes as trivial as a glossy magazine. Until we face our own demise, we lack real conviction and, more significantly, the capacity for love. As Australian biker Minister John Smith says, “At the end of the day, sometimes it’s more important to love than to be right.”

As long as people, on either side of the sexuality debate, continue to call down judgement on one another whilst ignoring ‘the least among us’, we will be calling down judgement upon ourselves. Or as my gran used to say…“stop chucking stones in’ glass ‘ouse” I hope the guys have a great cruise, and that the hospitality we show them will make a carpenter from Nazareth proud.

The Silence of God...

2007-05-02T07:14:00.000+01:00

...can sometimes be deafening

'It's enough to drive a man crazy; it'll break a man's faith
It's enough to make him wonder if he's ever been sane
When he's bleating for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod
And the heaven's only answer is the silence of God

It'll shake a man's timbers when he loses his heart
When he has to remember what broke him apart
This yoke may be easy, but this burden is not
When the crying fields are frozen by the silence of God

And if a man has got to listen to the voices of the mob
Who are reeling in the throes of all the happiness they've got
When they tell you all their troubles have been nailed up to that cross
Then what about the times when even followers get lost?
'Cause we all get lost sometimes...

There's a statue of Jesus on a monastery knoll
In the hills of Kentucky, all quiet and cold
And He's kneeling in the garden, as silent as a Stone
All His friends are sleeping and He's weeping all alone

And the man of all sorrows, he never forgot
What sorrow is carried by the hearts that he bought
So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
In the holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God'

(Andrew Peterson from the album 'Love and Thunder')

Hollywood Shoot-Up or Divine Art?

2007-05-01T08:54:00.000+01:00

I will not inconvenience you with details, but I haven’t been well the last couple of days. So to pass the time I have been watching films. I (don’t ask me why) just watched Mel Gibson’s ‘The Passion of the Christ’. He obviously had something on his mind when making this. It makes Martin Scorsese’s ‘The Last Temptation of Christ’ look like something from the Disney Channel. I am not going to give any moral answers about this work of art; rather after my viewing this morning I’d like to ask some questions that may hopefully take us to a point of departure rather than conclusion.

Greenbelt Trustee, journalist and friend Martin Wroe was one of a large number of the media who went to a special screening of the film prior to its release. He described it as ‘the Gospel according to Mel Gibson, but you could be forgiven for thinking it was according to Quentin Tarantino.’ He continued that ‘it is a breathtakingly barbarous ninety minutes of cinema violence’. For anyone who didn’t know the film, co-written, directed, produced and funded in part by a modest $25m of Gibson’s personal fortune, follows the final twelve hours of Jesus’ life – his arrest, trial, torture and death. Martin observed that ‘the brutality is so graphic that in one extended scourging scene Jesus is rendered a lacerated, bloodied frame of flesh even before he was nailed to the cross. He is beaten with a leather strap barbed with metal which, when slapped over a table, sticks in the wood like spikes. His crucified torso is in shreds.’

Strong stuff indeed, but having watched it again I wonder is this just cinematic voyeurism or is Gibson offering celluloid violence in the service of an interpretation of truth? He insists he has set out to inspire, not offend, and even claims Divine assistance. ‘The Holy Ghost was working through me…I was just directing traffic. I hope the film has the power to evangelize.’ Herein lies my problem. It’s a trap so many Christians fall into when trying to straddle the twin cultures of a church stuck on pause and a world stuck on fast forward.

When it comes to art (and evangelism) explanations do not add much, they conceivably might diminish the power of the piece. Maybe artists (and Christians) should establish the habit of saying very little about their work. Surely silence is recognition of the influence of the art to speak for itself – a reserve I would find compelling and refreshing were it more evident. I was always taught that art has its own language, and I would propose the same principle applies to faith. I mourn the chronic determination of those Christians who provide a base commentary for every aspect of its observance.

Someone recently described to me their joy of meeting a ‘Christian’ artist. I understood her reasons but found her ‘joy’ infuriating. I will endeavour to explain myself. Writer Mike Riddell suggests that ‘good art arises from the human condition, rendering it translucent. It invites us to see, to overcome our blindness.’ So in that sense we could be forgiven for saying it is evangelical. But it is here, in my opinion, that Christianity predominantly misunderstands art. The scandalon for so much ecclesial meddling is contained in the word ‘message’. There is no such thing as ‘Christian art’. There is just good and bad art created by both those who profess faith and those who do not.

My point? When art is ‘employed’ it becomes a means to an end – so it ceases to be art, and becomes propaganda. Art is not a pronouncement, rather it is an invitation – a key to a locked door even? Am I really pushing the analogy too much if I suggest that faith is too? And so it is, when I recall the churches block-booking multiplexes, heaven bent on converting the heathen through Gibson’s film (evidently one Texan couple spent $42,000 on 6,000 tickets to give away to the ‘lost’) I get ever so slightly concerned. As my friend Riddell says, ‘Artists are the antennae for humankind; they do not create the signals.’

In concluding Martin Wroe said that, ‘in setting out to save the lost, Gibson may end up confirming the worst myths about Christianity as humourless, anti-Semitic, voyeuristic, death cult.’ I agree with him wholeheartedly that Christianity has never been ‘family viewing, it is an undeniable mystery at the heart of the religion that the sacrifice of one man, somehow changes history.’ But I also think we have seen too many re-runs of a handsome, blue-eyed Robert Powell, portraying unconvincingly what many agree is the most unthinkably violent way we ridiculous humans have ever thought up to kill one another. And for the life of me I’m struggling to see how we are expected to get a giggle out of that.

But what do I know? I suggest you see it (if you haven’t already), and make up your own mind. Would be interested to hear what you all think…

Flesh of our Flesh

2007-04-27T13:34:00.000+01:00

this was my prayer, my moment with the Almighty this morning...

Dear God
When were you last slapped,
hard in the face,
out of the blue,
so you were stunned,
had pins and needles,
lost your sense of being for a second
and then watched your skin swell, darken, run
red
...and stretch to its limits?

When did you last last hold a baby up to
your own face, God,
smell the warm body,
touch the innocent skin,
know the life pass between you, with no words?

Do you have feelings too, God?
Do things touch you?
Are you spirit or are you substance,
for real or only ether-real,
or you there or everywhere?
If we reached out and touched you
would our hands pass right through
...your elusive, divine self?

What about any distinguishing characteristics?
What colour are you God?
How's your eyesight,
what's your body like,
would we spot you in a crowd,
would we stare at you for some disability?

How many senses have you got, God,
five, six, eighteen, ninety-four?
And your sense of touch,
is your handshake firm as a vice
or slippery as an eel?
What do you smell of God?
Anything in particular,
the universe, is it,
planets, oceans, space, skies?

If it's true that your Spirit is always willing
...is your flesh ever weak?
And if the Word was made flesh,
are you flesh of our flesh,
bone of our bone?

Is that you there, meek and mild,
meanly wrapped in swaddling clothes?
Is that you, Baby J,
Word of the Father,
now in flesh appearing,
is that you, screaming as you arrive
like the rest of us,
screaming at the shock of the new,
the shock of the cold and old and broken?
Is that you,
slipping clumsily out from between
a Virgin's legs,
covered in blood and gunge and straw,
when moments before,
you had been covered in glory?
Tied to the mother of God by stringy flesh,
sucking for your very own life on a woman's breast
...what a come-down.

And is someone slapping your bum,
a world-first,
God gets a thrashing,
God gets to feel flesh on flesh
and it makes him cry?

Still, at least you had an audience,
cows, was it, or maybe a goat or two?
Did they look at you in awe and wonder,
were the cattle lowing a bit,
or were they a smelly nuisance?
But 'little Lord Jesus no crying he makes'.
Well, that doesn't sound right.
The thing about flesh is that it makes you cry;
for better or worse, you've got to cry.
'Who is he in yonder stall
at whose feet the shepherds fall?'
Did they fall?
Did they recognise you up close,
did they know that it was you, God,
starkers, in the flesh,
or were they just intrigued by
the heavenly host
and that funny star?

And did the flesh inconvenience
and annoy and anger you,
like it does the rest of us,
your fleshy creatures?
Did your nose run green,
your skin flake or bruise red,
Did your breath catch with asthma
in that smelly barn,
your chest tighten in fear?
were you irritated by flies and gnats
(ones you had made earlier),
...or did they show some respect?

And later on, what did you do about
your fleshly lusts?
And, just out of interest, where, on earth,
did you go for your private moments
- are there miraculously fertile plants
there today,
trees with roots for miles
and branches into the heavens
forever bearing fruit
...or are those places
where the divine squatted in squalor with his
lowly creatures,
and wiped his bum with leaves,
just like any other place?

When you were tired,
when it was all going wrong,
when your friends misunderstood,
lost interest,
wandered off,
did you think,
'What did I get into this body-business for?'
swapping spirit for flesh,
swapping omnipresence for being somwhere
...in particular?
Did you feel trapped in that body,
or didn't you know what it had been like
before you became body?
When were you in-carnate
...did you recall what it was like
being out-carnate?
Flesh doesn't fly, usually,
flesh can't be in more than one place at a time,
flesh is limited, awkward.
Did you ever notice it,
did you wonder at the restrictions of
the body corporeal,
or were you just one of us,
God Inc.?

Did the flesh exhilarate you,
excite you,
did you run and laugh and fall,
did you sweat and wrestle and argue
and were you grateful to live
on earth
a human
in flesh
to be one of us?

"He was little, weak and helpless,
tears and smiles like us he knew,
and he feeleth for our sadness,
and he shareth in our gladness."

And how's your body now,
do you wear a halo, or a crown,
is it of gold, or is it of thorns,
are there marks on your palms,
have you got blood on the side of your shirt still?

Jesus of the body, of the flesh,
Jesus of the teeth and hair and toenails,
welcome to the body, God
and thank you for taking it,
for putting flesh on the bones of
our skeletal lives,
thank you, Jesus, for becoming body among us,
that veiled in flesh Godhead we see.

Flesh is all we have
but, as you know now,
flesh is not all we are.

Crafted by this great man, my friend Martin Wroe from his book, 'When You Haven't Got a Prayer: A journalist talks to God' (Lion, 1997)

Happy Place

2007-04-20T16:22:00.000+01:00

Watched an episode of 'Friends' the other morning and amidst the genius comic timing (very Laurel & Hardyesque) of Joey and Chandler was a very funny moment from Pheobe where she goes to her happy place. And it got me wondering where mine was, where was the most beautiful place I have been.....

Here it is.....

Question is, where's yours? Answers on a comment please....

ps, this was my pathetic attempt at being Ansel Adams

L 5

2007-04-18T06:32:00.000+01:00

GROWTH DOES NOT RESIDE IN A PLACE CALLED COMFORTABLE .....

"In times of change
the learners
will inherit the earth
while the knowers,
will find themselves
beautifully equipped
to deal with a world
that no longer exists."
(Eric Hoffer)

I have been very very poor at responding to people's posts and even questions asked from my own - for that I apologise - the dialogue, the openness of many people who stop by is deep and I should treat it with more tenderness than I have of late. Will aim to remedy that...

One of the questions asked of me by Blue Mountain Mama was what do I mean when I talk of level 5. Well, it's a term concerning communication - different levels have varying consequences for our growth and relationships. Pip is the Godfather of L5 communication, a deep and tender soul whose high in life is loving people (particularly the unloved) and peeling their layers to find their innermost beauty...I once remember him saying that every morning he didn't go to work, he went to love - wow! I nicked this illustration from his blog - me thinks I will be forgiven

tragically this is the only picture I can find of the two us...

Speaking of Level 5, I re-read C.S. Lewis' 'The Great Divorce' yesterday - where Lewis, through fable and allegory, finds himself in a bus which travels between Hell and Heaven - it's the genesis of an extraordinary meditation upon good and evil which takes issue with William Blake's 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell'.

A remarkable book which asks big level 5 questions if we embrace them - the first one came in the preface - so much so, I had to stop reading and look deep into my own troubled soul for some time:

"You cannot take all luggage with you on all journeys; on one journey your right hand and your right eye may be among the things you leave behind. We are not living in a world where all roads are radii of a circle and where all, if followed long enough, will therefore draw gradually nearer and finally meet at the centre: rather in a world where every road, after a few miles, forks into two you must make a decision. Even on the biological level life is not like a river but like a tree. it does not move towards unity but away from it and the creatures grow further apart as they increase in perfection. Good as it ripens becomes more continually more different not only from evil but from other good."

that last line particularly still has me reeling, as I said to a friend last night, carpe diem is an onion....

mercies...

2007-04-17T22:20:00.000+01:00

...they say they are new every morning.... i hope so

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. ~Kahlil Gibran

...for those now in some better place and those left in Virginia

Loneliness - the window to belonging?

2007-04-15T03:46:00.000+01:00

'Don't lose yourself, don't let yourself be lost'
(Laura Veirs)

What is it about 3am? Sleep will not be mine tonight so I am just going to type and see what happens. Normally i know what I want to write about, but if I'm honest, i have no idea where I going with this post.

I have so much stuff, so many issues raging through my head, all vying for position, I'm not sure this will be the most coherent piece of writing I've ever accomplished.

But maybe that's not such a terrible admission. Maybe we should admit a little more than we do that most of the time our lives are rather confused and a little messy. Lots of events recently remembered have caused me to take a hard look at my life and faith - generally, no, specifically, because they are both a little messy.

Whether it was the birth of my children, or the tragic death I recalled yesterday once more of Brother Roger of Taize, or the crazy homeless guy called Warren I met in London who had stitches all over his face from a knife wound, or whether it's just the simple fact that we haven't got life quite figured out the way we'd hoped by now - all of these things and, more importantly, how we work through them, are, and will be, a little muddled, maybe even chaotic.

And maybe (I'm using that word a lot at the moment) we should start not only admitting our chaos but also embracing it a little. Let me use a couple of the above moments as an example. A while back I was sitting at a wine bar by Liverpool Street Station enjoying a chilled glass or 3 of Sauvignon Blanc enjoying the spring sun, when I noticed an unkempt man heading in my direction. He was trying to talk to the other people enjoying the sunshine and their wine, but no-one even looked his way.

As he approached me, I saw that his face was covered in stitches. I asked him how it happened - he told me he had asked someone for some money for food, that an argument followed and that a man produced a knife and sliced open his face.

I asked him to sit with me.

We talked for a good hour, and there he spilled his story (and it was pretty disordered), but more than anything I realised how lonely Warren was, how he longed more than anything for community and belonging.

Brother Roger founded founded a community of monks in Taize, in eastern France (that became a remarkable ecumenical movement) because of this type of loneliness. In this community, he encouraged people to embrace their loneliness by dovetailing it with solitude because this, he believed, would become the doorway into community and belonging. What do I mean? Well, the writer Alain de Botton in his work often talks about the pleasure of sadness. Now, he is no manic depressive who wants us all to be miserable for the sake of it. Rather he believes that sometimes our transient state of being, our own failings, griefs and disappointments - however bleak they may seem - may acually console us.

Why is it that when we are most sad, sad songs and melancholy works of art are the very things that comfort us? Maybe they invite us to feel empathy with those whose stories are being told in their isolation. For what it's worth, I think that sensitively saturated works of art serve as an omnipresent symbol of an emotional texture of the person we want to be and feel deep down, somewhere, we are. It is a feature of love overcoming loneliness and one with which we should all, in whatever way we can, assist.

I remember many mourning the tragic passing of Brother Roger, primarily because he in some small way allowed them to belong. there are many Warren's who wander the streets of big cities around this world who ae lonely because no-one notices. maybe we need to start noticing a little more than we do or, as Marcel Proust suggests, that our lives shouldn't be about looking for new landscapes, but rather seeing the one we belong to with different eyes.

I have often felt lonely, even when I am not alone. Yet my faith gas always supported me through some pretty obscure, surreal, lonely and difficult times and actually I am no longer afraid to need it. I am ceratinly no Saint, but i do feel his presence in those quiet moments when I am still enough to listen - and it means the world to me.

Perhaps more than ever, no matter where we find ourselves in the wild, crazy, painfully beautiful adventure called life, we should all spend more time, occasionally, searching for His pleasure...........

Remembered

2007-04-10T23:02:00.000+01:00

The sun was hot, little Hannah tired as if she was waiting for lesser things, samuel wondering why we were visiting the cemetery on Easter Monday. It was another cruel ending. We picked flowers for a man I never met, a beautiful troubled soul who all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put back together again.

We stood by his grave and placed the flowers gently by the stone - he was 32 when he left this world. I asked Samuel if he wanted to say a prayer - he said that he hoped he was having a good time in Heaven and that God was being kind to him. I said a heartfelt amen. i am sure he is.

why did we do it? I simply thought that no-one should be alone and everyone remembered, especially during the great feast of Easter....

There's a scene in Thornton Wilder's play 'The angel that trouble the waters' where a doctor suffering from meloncholy comes to the magic pool with healing powers to be healed of his troubles and his gloom and sadness but the angel guarding the water tells him he cannot enter. The man says, 'but how can I live this way?' the angel again says, 'I'm sorry this moment is not for you, this healing is not for you'.

So the doctor again pleads 'but I have to get into the water, I can't live this way' And the angel then says...no this moment is not for you, and he says, but how can i live this way? And the angel says to him, doctor, without your wounds, where would your power be? it is your melancholy that makes your lower voice tremble into the hearts of men and women, the very angels in heaven cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children of this earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living...in loves service, only wounded soldiers can serve....

he was truly a wounded soldier who served better than any of us know...

truth is communicated through brokenness, sadness and vulnerability...and our scars should always remind us of this, our dear friend Martyn knew this and penned this beautiful song about his life

'he was a good man, went around
with compassion in his eyes
he'd do anything for anyone
loved truth and hated lies
some say he was burdened
some think he was free
some say was driven
this man of empathy

at night he'd slip away in sleep
and run down winding roads
to where an angel stood...
before healing waters

he was a good man who would not choose
to walk on middle ground
believed he had to lose himself
in order to be found
walking in his brokeness
and desperate honesty
with questions there inside him
aching to be free

at night he'd meet his angel
said 'let me bury all this pain'
but the angel would not let him
said 'one day i'll explain'

broken on the wheels of living
broken by this life
broken yet still held together
by this love

one day he just lost it
the anger blew inside
he pushed past his admirers
and found a place to hide
he was a good man who pushed down the locks
and turned the engine on
prayed there for forgiveness
and hoped it wouldn't take too long

soon he slipped away in sleep
and ran down winding roads
to where an angel stood...
before healing waters
(M Joseph)

for all those who need healing waters and the shelter of storms...eventually, maybe, the road seems to straighten right out despite the bridges burned and despite the route we take

Connection

2007-04-08T03:51:00.000+01:00

Yet again I am in that lonely place called the small hours of the morning, just trying to stop the child-like fear of the night, and maybe figure ‘it all out’.

Have tried to write for days now but nothing comes, we have been through the two most holy and precious days and all I feel is numb. The Thursday we call Maundy and the Friday we call Good usually evoke deep feelings but this year I just don’t feel part of the Easter story

I guess I’m looking for connection – sadly it’s elusive.

Still, in a few hours I will enter the mystery of faith once more. Ask most thinking Christians what the most important part of their holistic worship is and they will simply say, the Eucharist. It is about the only action Jesus asks of us to remember him by. I would say it is the last great mystery of faith. The whole transubstantiation debate will go on and on. Frankly I don’t mind either way, and the more time we give to that argument the more we will continue to miss its point.

What’s my point? Well, on Easter Sunday last year a Eucharistic initiative caused both the Catholic and Anglican to unite in condemnation. Why? Fr Iggy (couldn’t have been scripted better) O’Donovan and the Revd Michael Graham celebrated a special mass to commemorate the ninetieth anniversary of the 1916 Easter rising. Fr Iggy said that his intention was not to ‘flout’ church rules, but rather to be ‘inclusive’. And here’s the thing. I believe that the Eucharist is many things and one of those is that it is a missional tool - I have heard too many times that, 'if you are in a right relationship with Christ you are welcome at this table' - frankly (and i use a hebrew word here) that's bollocks! Where does Jesus say that? ALL are welcome....ALL no matter what!

Jesus made it absolutely clear that Christians who love one another in unity are capable of proving to the world the divine nature of Christian fellowship and the deity of Jesus Christ, and I think the mass plays an important role in revealing this. I would suggest that mission is the communication of grace, both verbally and non-verbally, lived out in community but always in the direction of others and away from ourselves.

Writer Brennan Manning has an interesting slant on what we may have to be, to play our part well in effective mission. He makes an analogy between John the Baptist and Jesus, then parallels this against task driven churches and graced ones, remarking that ‘Jesus feasted while John fasted. Whereas John’s call to conversion was essentially linked to penitential practices, the call of Jesus is fundamentally connected to being a table companion, eating and drinking with Jesus in whom,’ and I think this is important in explaining Fr Iggy’s initiative, God’s merciful manner with sinners is made manifest in the family meal.

In other words we need to accept the blunt acknowledgement that we owe our lives, our very being and salvation to Another if we are to allow grace to resonate in us, before we can allow that to then permeate into those around us – in a way God, by Her Spirit provides. This fundamental act lies at the core of our response to a missiological Eucharistic life. I think we need to learn to distinguish between crucial Biblical truths and secondary preferences of cultural practice, which unfortunately have been so prevalent when a good story has been told so badly. Asceticism was not only inappropriate but also unthinkable in the presence of the Bridegroom. If we could only live this instead of theologising it the communities we are part of would be radically different. Communities where although ‘we see dimly’, enough light comes through the glass to enable the shape of the story to be discerned.

Ecumenism is badly understood if it is reduced to inter-church co-operation. The ecumenical movement doesn’t simply ask that churches learn to get along, but that their churches must be renewed and transformed.’ When the World Council of Churches met in Canberra in 1991 they revealed that the nature and vocation of the ecumenical movement was to call generations of people to commit themselves to the unity and renewal of Christianity, existentially to an ecumenical pilgrimage. This movement has its roots in one particular, and it can be argued, unanswered prayer of Jesus recorded in John 17:21 that: ‘…they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be one in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.’

To be ecumenical is, of course, to embrace the whole inhabited earth and to reach into those difficult conversations and relationships where faiths often clash but where God’s clarity can be found. Yet how can we realise unity when it is still uniformity that Churches are more comfortable with and continue to nurture? The late M. Scott Peck suggested that: ‘we shouldn’t put the cart before the horse. True unity starts at home…perhaps it should start small.’ Perhaps even in an Augustinian priory in Drogheda, Co. Louth.

It is wisely taught at Alcoholics Anonymous that the only person you change is yourself – it is a good place to start. Unity has to do with people living together in freedom and love. These are simple words, but they are not simple actions. Genuine Christ-like love requires some very hard decisions and unity neither comes naturally nor is it purchased cheaply. This will (in the case of both ecumenism and the Eucharist) involve dropping our ‘them’ and ‘us’ categories, and greeting people as equals. When we do we continue to learn what God is doing in a changing world. Unity surely has to be a two-way street. As writer Mike Riddell says ‘to go with the expectation of having all the answers for other people’s questions is a form of arrogance. It is among ‘them’ that we learn who God is, and why they remain part of ‘us’.

Fr Iggy concluded last year, that he had ‘no regrets’ and he can expect to have the support of many who do not see the relevance of theological niceties. The wisest conclusion I remember hearing was that if the ceremony breached the letter of Church law, it celebrated the spirit of Christianity.

I for one am grateful that there is wideness in God’s mercy that I do not find in my own…really, I am.

Contemporary Monasticism: The Margins of a Spiritual Wilderness

2007-04-03T17:12:00.000+01:00

Ok, I think I may have posted this way back somewhere, but felt I should honour the kind award of "thinking blogger" with something I had been thinking about for quite some time. So here we are, a very shortened sound-bite of my MA Thesis that I wrote for the Magazine Third Way last year - pour a large glass of wine before you read, it's not a short post, sorry.

Oh, and another thing - these are the Uluguru Mountains and can be found not in North America, but rather Tanzania.

“The edge does not have to lead to nihilism. If we are careful, it is possible to recognise, accept, even grow from spirituality’s borderlands without being consumed by them…Historically, when the mainstream has been stunted, many look to the fringes for their spiritual life.”
Niles Elliot Goldstein, God at the Edge

THE Portuguese call it saudade: an inexplicable longing, an unnamed and enigmatic yearning of the soul. It’s as good a word as any for what took me out into the Adirondack Mountains of Northern Vermont in 1994. I needed some space to be still and to allow the Spirit to whisper to me through the beauty and solace of wilderness. And as I hiked homeward after two peaceful nights in my sleeping bag under the stars, I had an encounter which has stayed with me ever since.

Heading back towards “civilisation”, I realised that I had miscalculated both distance and time. I wasn’t going to make it back to the highway before the sun went down - unless I left the trail and cut through a larch forest. On the other hand, I didn’t much care for wandering the mountain without light, so I made an instinctive decision. Hurrying off into the unknown, I felt a mischievous, child-like elation at leaving the path. Until, that is, I lost my footing among the trees, tumbled disorientated down a bank, and landed face down in a clearing. Relieved to be intact, I slowly lifted my head to find myself looking into the yellow eyes of a wolf.

It was the most terrifyingly beautiful moment of my life. He was only a few feet away, and as I stared he shifted his head to one side and softly growled, revealing his sharp teeth. Time seemed to stand still – though in truth the moment could have only lasted a few seconds. I genuinely thought it was the end of the road for me. Yet as real as my fear was an accompanying awareness that something profoundly spiritual was taking place. As this stunning creature tilted his head I found myself instinctively imitating his actions. Observing me carefully, the wolf came even closer. He lowered his head like mine, and I experienced what I can only describe as mystical connection. Padding off towards a grove of trees, he stopped to look back once more with lowered head, before disappearing into the forest.

As I lay there, my heart pounding, I felt both shaken and elated. We humans are so temporary on this earth, and yet this wildness seemed so timeless. I realised that for the first time in my life, I felt part of something much bigger than myself.

FORESTS OF NIGHT
It was John Muir, that patron saint of the great outdoors, who stated that, ‘in wilderness lies the hope of the world.’ And if we understand that everything within God’s creation is connected to everything else, then this isn’t some romantic vision, but a prophetic word providing a legacy for a deep spirituality available to us all. The truth is that the great religions of the World have always been nourished in the Wilderness.

Soren Kierkegaard called God ‘the absolute frontier’, believing that it sometimes takes a journey to the wild to locate Him. It’s a strange paradox that in the loneliest landscapes, as spiritual refugees, we can find healing by encountering the brokenness within us all - with or without the help of a wolf. Jesus himself embodied this kind of wilderness pilgrimage – a man of no fixed abode, with nowhere to rest his head, who wrestled with questions and sweated blood.
In the years since my trip I have become a great believer of questions, especially the ones that take us deep into the troubled places of our soul where we come face to face with our inner demons and resident Pharisees. It’s in this particular landscape of questions that we find ourselves spiritually naked, vulnerable and without our masks. Questions usually bring us to our knees – answers tend to swell our egos.

Yet in church culture the dominating voices make Christian maturity easily available and accessible, appearing to anaesthetise difficulties and hypnotise us into not walking hard terrains. Loneliness, brokenness, and traversing the wastelands of this world have become signs of weakness in many churches. This is more than unfortunate; it is a lie that has caused great turmoil for many tired people. It actually borders on heresy. It was enlightenment, not Christianity, which demanded that we remove the mystery from life and replace it with hard, provable facts. And in any case, it failed.
Wilderness spirituality is not about finding some blue-print that leads to salvation through nature, neither is it about worshipping mountains or hugging trees. Rather it is for those who truly seek the light, but recognise that this can only be found once one is willing to first explore the darkness.

ENLIGHTENED DARKNESS
In his extraordinary book on Wilderness Spirituality, Rodney Romney suggests that the image of the wilderness as a metaphor for life has a long tradition, from as early as Moses and the people of Israel to the temptation of Jesus. More than anything else though he challenges the idea of the wilderness always as a place to overcome, seeing it rather as somewhere we both live and learn. “A wilderness is an unexplored place,” he writes. “To the average person that means it is unmapped, unsettled and unfriendly. But every wilderness has its own distinctive markers and its own set of inhabitants. It is neither hostile nor friendly. It is what it is – an unexplored place that challenges and lures us away from the human institutions of civilisation and tradition.”

Part of the problem is that we are conditioned by much of traditional (Enlightenment) religion that these landscapes – the ‘Forests of the Night’ – are places where good, civilised religious people should never be found. Yet a God who was as as civilised as most Christians like to imagine would be useless to Christianity. For God is wild by nature (wonderfully tender also) but he/she is the embodiment of all that is full and untamed from this gift we call life. While God is everywhere by his Spirit, to encounter the full passion of God comprehensively we have to visit the wilderness edge, whether that be the desert, mountains, or deep forests.

Why, for instance, was Moses called to scale the 9,000-foot peak of Mount Sinai on foot before he could experience the abundance of God? It wasn’t just to discuss the weather. The climbing was a profession of faith. Mountains, forests, and even labyrinths function as metaphoric and symbolic holy space of encounter. In their geographic remoteness from the inhabited earth, these places provide a space in which our minds may not be so prone to wandering. Where we empty ourselves of everyday clutter, and are still in the presence of that which longs to draw near. When we drift along the margins we become part of their story – we come face to face with God, closer maybe than a lover – and so consequently we find we can temper our inherent obsession with destination.

In 1845, Henry David Thoreau left ‘normality’ and moved to the wilderness to live a simple life, free from materialistic complications, and to contemplate the wonders of nature. Walden is the classic account of a man who chose to live on the edges of society, the borderlands - a transcendentalist’s yearning for freedom and spiritual truth. Thoreau once said: “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.” Leo Tolstoy echoes this sentiment: “I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love. I felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life.”

Both Tolstoy and Thoreau remain convinced of one thing: that courageous pilgrimage is a must for a deep authentic spiritual journey. The way of the pilgrim is a constant perpetual moving on, a venturing out into unknown territory, where we find the comfort and companionship of God through fellow travellers we meet on the way.

NECESSARY HUMBLING
Where do you feel God’s presence most: in a church, synagogue or mosque, or on a mountain, dwelling within nature, and embracing creation? I have been to moving services in many different buildings, built to allow spiritual expression and connection, but my deepest and richest encounters with the presence of God (apart from the birth of my son, Samuel, and my daughter, Hannah) have come while spending time exploring the frontiers of creation.

For me wilderness matters first and foremost because it humbles us – we realise how very small we are and, more significantly, how incredible and vast are the love, heart, and creativity of God. It also provides the purest of environments to experience a direct connection with God. But maybe even more importantly it provides us with something the Jewish tradition calls Yirah, which translates roughly as awe and wonder. Another meaning is fear. Wonder, mystery, attraction, fear and danger are all vital signposts to the gateway of an awe-filled encounter with God.

It’s tempting nowadays to see fear as a negative force rather than a positive one. But the Bible tells us that fear of God is the beginning of wisdom. (Psalm 111:10) It’s a healthy part of life, which we should embrace, because its gift to us is the knowledge of our own insufficiency, and so consequently this sets us on a path of humility (filled with questions) rather than arrogance (where we are full of answers).

What wilderness does so richly is force us to embrace the present where we become aware of the responsibility to our soul. Not dwelling in our past prisons, and not worrying about a future that doesn’t yet exist calls us to the present, is both psychologically, and spiritually liberating. This practice literally makes room for God from within the cluttered mess of our lives. It was for this reason that I walked into the hills of Vermont all those years ago.

DOWN THE MOUNTAIN
Then as now, wilderness was not the end of the journey. Hitching back into town after my encounter with the wolf, I shared a whisky with a Native American elder who helped me understand what had happened. He listened intently as I retold my story, watching me with the kindest eyes I had ever looked into. ‘I suppose you think I’m crazy?’ I said, after telling him about my moment of connection. ‘Not at all’, he answered softly, ‘not at all.’ In fact, as a hunter of the Huron tribe, he had an understanding and respect for animal life often sadly lacking in Western spirituality. The wolf, he informed me, was known among Native Americans as a seeker of new ways – a pathfinder to new beginnings. He concluded that I had been graced by the presence of the greatest of teachers.

I was 24 years old at the time and whilst I remember being transfixed by his wise, almost prophetic insight, I had no real clue as to what that meant for me. But what I have discovered in the years since my encounter with the wolf is that a stay in the wilderness should inevitably direct one’s attention outward as much as inward. It is impossible to dwell in the margins without our mystical encounters calling us to the position of engagement – engagement with community. It was Bruce Springsteen, as he searched the mystery of love, who said that ‘in the end nobody wins unless everybody wins’. The call of the wild is always with certain people, but it only becomes useful when we learn the spirituality of the wolf: where having gone into the wild, the knowledge and experience acquired is then shared and incorporated into the lives of the rest of the pack.

It is a Protestant myth that salvation is only worked out individually. We need to get back to inclusiveness, friendships, belonging and community - these are the catalysts for effective spirituality from within our post-modern, post-Christian culture. And of course for those of us with children to feed and responsibilities at home, a literal trip to the wilderness may not often be possible. Perhaps we may to find sacred space closer to home to hear the Spirit’s whisper. Either way, spirituality has to reach into those dark places we would rather not visit. Not just the geographic borderlands, but also the wilderness of our soul. The wilderness is as discomforting as it is seductive, but philosophies in isolation are no good to anyone. It is from within these wastelands that we start our journey to spiritual maturity, so allowing a spirituality that will be earthed in the often mundane and broken lives of each other.

Hmmm, where to start.....

2007-03-29T15:38:00.000+01:00

....this truly could be the most incoherent post ever flung out into cyber-space. Really, it just might be. Thanks to a few lovely mortals it seems I have won some recognition for my ramblings here in blogland, one particularly is to blame for this kind and easily pleased gesture. Dana, aka Awareness has been sufficiently taken in with my ranting and nonescence that she deemed me deserving of the "Thinking Blog Award". I am flattered and say a heartfelt thank you....twice, thank you

So, it seems I now have the impossible task of picking 5 more 'thinkers' - well, thank god so many gems have been taken otherwise i would have had to admit this was an impossible task...Dana Anna Pip and Mike are all places of daily inspiration and make my head hurt and my heart sing and my eyes weep....what are our eyes trying to say with their tears?

Still, I guess the word 'beauty' springs to mind, it's the thread (the embodiment) which weave these people and this remarkable mosaic together, the constant of all these blogs here in cyber-space, the rich stirring that sucks the marrow of life - it's the reason I visit these people daily....

.....and also these, for these are the 5 I have chosen:

Jen is the bench mark, she sets the standard. I remember Pip sending a link to this (Sept 17: God) and knowing that this would feed my soul and nourish my heart like no other blog. What Jen has been through has claimed better souls than mine, but she is a remarkable human whose work always inspires and whose wisdom from struggles has been clean air in a world where most of the air is too angry to breath. She is out there on her own, no-one comes close - enjoy Mexico!!!!!!

The Father is a dear dear human who, in truth, doesn't blog enough - but as musicians will tell you - when it comes to greatness, sometimes less is more. He is a sensitive, kind heart whose insight into the road less travelled is a constant inspiration to me. Oh, and he is the new Lee Majors!

Maggi describes herself as an anglican priest thinking out loud about theology, life and faith. She does think out loud and the fragrance she leaves is one of a carpenter who roamed the hills of palestine long ago. It is a pleasure to drink deep of her insight and compassion for a broken world...will be watching on sunday morning BBC1!!!!

Cary you embody, as a lovely poet once said, 'the silk of who you have yet to be' - this is not a blog for the faint-hearted, but for those who wish to reach into the edges of humanity to find the divine waiting patiently there, amidst the struggle as well as the joy, then this is a place to treasure - grace and beer sister - "see you soon child, soon"

What can i say about this man. When we met he and some guy called Yaconelli drank me out of wine and had smoked so many cohiba's I couldn't see them acroos the room!!!!! He is a one off - he is Elisha - his heart for young humans and life, love, food, good conversation, God, oh, yeah and wine and cigars is second to none. You live in the shadow of no-one friend, no-one!!!! We need to catch up....my fault i know

may the God of second chances pick us up and let us dance.........

The participation rules are simple:

1) If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2) Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3) Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

Time

2007-03-29T09:12:00.000+01:00

And the years teach much the days never knew

A good friend who I don't speak with nearly enough sent this quote - i think it rests well here....

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."
Aeschylus

shadows

2007-03-22T14:41:00.000Z

I walked past the church I used to frequent the other day and was stopped in my tracks by this

It reminded me that success is not measured by what we bring, but rather by what we leave

since posting this I can't get this poem by Stewart Henderson out of my head;

‘And this is what we leave behind
The leaking tap, the unquiet mind
The cuckoo clock, the après ski
The black fly ravaged lilac tree
The horoscope, the eBay find
This is what we leave behind

And this is what we do not take
The funeral service and the wake
The christening shawl, the driving test
The semi that was repossessed
The x-ray and the Dundee cake
This is what we do not take

And this is what will be no more
The hospice and the hasty law
The routine morning after pill
Montrose 1 Dumbarton 0
The hamster cage, the exit door
This is what will be no more

And this is what we’ll lay to rest
The polished regimental crest
The blossom days, the stricken nights
Gocloma and the Blackpool lights
The cystic unexamined breast
This is what we’ll lay to rest

And this is what will be put away
Countdown, thrush and Santa’s sleigh
The Oscar speech, invaded lands
Vasectomies, the marching bands
The hawkish Independence Day
All this will be put away

And this is what we leave behind
The leaking tap, the unquiet mind
The gossip and the misery
The laudatory obituary
The ending of the word…declined
This is what we leave behind...'

This is Stewart and I at Greenbelt a couple of years ago. you can find his work and collaborations with his partner in crime Martyn Jospeh here

my grandma's wisdom

2007-03-20T22:07:00.000Z

my grandad, the heartbeat of her life died when i was 5 - she said to me just before she passed away nearly 20 years later that time healed nothing, nothing at all...it just merely numbed

you were right grandma, you were right

I also remember her telling me not to fear the emptiness of life - hard lessons she learned from loss - strange how moments forgotten suddenley re-appear

For my dear friend Ian, whose mum passed away last week

...life in the ordinary

2007-03-13T15:54:00.000Z

Ordinary is very pervasive, but I like a God who dwells there - a God who inhabits ordinary people, ordinary places and ordinary situations...even boardwalks

'Now there's a loss that can never be replaced,
A destination that can never be reached,
A light you'll never find in another's face,
A sea whose distance cannot be breached

Well Jesus kissed his mother's hands
Whispered, "Mother, still your tears,
For remember the soul of the universe
Willed a world and it appeared.'
(Bruce Springsteen)

something to do with longing, prayer...and maybe flunking

2007-03-10T18:47:00.000Z

This is where you will find me most sunday mornings...trying to pray, sadly I just don't get it....thankfully my late and dear friend did;

'I have always been terrible at praying
I forget
My mind wanders
I fall asleep
I don't pray enough
I don't undersatnd what prayer is
Or what prayer does.

If prayer were school...
I would flunk praying

But prayer isn't school
It is mystery

Maybe the mystery is...
Jesus loves terrible prayers
Maybe...
When I can't think of anything to say, he says what I can't say
When I talk too much, he chersihes my too many words
When I fall asleep, he holds me in his lap and caresses my weary soul
When I am overwhelmed with guilt at my inconsistent, inadequate praying
He whispers, "Your name is always on my lips"

I am filled with gratitude, my soul overflows with thankfulness and I...
I...find myself saying over and over again, "thank you"
Praying the mystery'
(Mike Yaconelli)

Every morning, i take a moment of quiet...and in the stillness i pray this prayer...

'Broken...I now talk with God.
O Lord Jesus my saviour.
Today my heart is empty.
Pride is the thing I will miss least when time comes to and end.
I need a priest.
I need a preacher.
I need an exorcist to banish the snake I've been handling called...self.
I need you.
Broken...I now talk to God.
(Ben Pearson: Taken from Ragamuffin Prayers, CCM Books)

Ubuntu

2007-03-07T09:28:00.000Z

Blue Mountain Mama's 'Wordless Wednesday' has refreshed my irritation. Here's what I mean:

There's a haunting lament by the musician Damien Rice which, today I can't get out of my head. In it he speaks of cold, cold water surrounding him. Of course it's a metaphor, but something of his aching and longing for something lost has stirred my soul. I don't know where this journey began - I think my first visit to Africa - but what I do know is that I now suffer from a condition that Scottish writer and campaigner Alistair McIntosh calls communalism. Such an idiom brings us to questions of identity and belonging - in short, our search for community.

Generations, most of which have now passed away (I am remembering particularly my grandparents), speak of a time of interconnectedness, a time when there was an interdependence on one another for survival. A time of sharing what little they had and not demanding anything in return - I suppose the Biblical simile would be that everyone was their brother and sister's keeper. It is something the social thinker Ivan Illich calls the 'vernacular economy', which explained in mortal speak is a way of doing and being that is learned, naturally, through our culture, which allows equality within society.

As with anything important, we realise just how essential something is only when it is gone. Something I think we (as a global community) need to address with some urgency is an economy for people and not profit, which at its deepest level I would describe as mutuality. This is something which most of Africa and the developing world have had to live with for too long. Need should lubricate our relationships. Surplus should be for sharing before trading and happiness should come from giving rather than accumulating.

Historical and sociological insights urge theologians to look hard at situations where church praxis is worked out. Ideas in isolation are not enough. Theology needs to be seen in relation to the events that shape it. Ubuntu, Xhosa expression, is one such example. It is an ancient African word meaning 'humanity to others'. Like many African words it has numerous translations, another is ''I am what I am because of who you are.'

Where am I going with this? Well, I read the story of the feeding of the 5,000 for the first time in a while the other day and I tried to get beyond the basic narrative and burrow under and inbetween the text. I've always had a nagging suspicion that there was more to this story than Jesus performing some kind of magic trick to feed hungry people. And after a while of pondering the text, it hit me. These were not hungry, starving people in front of Jesus and his disciples at all (maybe a little peckish at most). Many were proud Jewish women and their children and I have never met a Jewish mother who doesn't make sure her family isn't more than well fed.

This miracle is not about feeding starving people. As an aside, most Jews in Jesus' time had 200 calories per day more than the World Health Organisation prescribes as necessary for the minimum sustainable diet for people today. These were not starving hungry people. The point is this; who with thousands around, is going to share? the crowd is experiencing a late lunch because of a silly concoction of politeness, social reserve and selfishness. In the face of all this prissiness, Jesus accepts the naive offering of a young boy who has the courage to share his lunch and with this shames 5,000 people into opening their boxes.

Am I undermining the authenticity of the miracle? No, not for a minute. What I am trying to do is underscore its credibility and importance for our time. For Jesus to transform the fish and loaves would not be impossible. I have no difficulty whatsoever with that. But for Jesus to feed 5,000 people when no one but a young boy is prepared to make any individual suggestion that they have food is an astounding feat, because he is taking on human selfishness.

What makes it more incredible? (If indeed we believe Holy Scripture kind of transcends time) That Christ should feed a non-starving crowd out of kindness? Or that we in the West should be aware of the perilous state of millions of our fellow human beings and have to wait until skeletal children appear on our television screens before we are generous? Or are we finally going to wake up to the fact that we are 'Ubuntu', we are interconnected, that we need one another - that we are our brother's and sister's keeper?

Sobering isn't it?

* as a sub note, anyone who says my thoughts are not accurate with the exact text - take a history lesson on how much the New Testament text has been fiddled with to say what a bunch of men wanted it to say - you'd be surprised

Victor

2007-03-04T20:50:00.000Z

'Emergencies have always been necessary to progress. It was darkness which produced the lamp. It was fog that produced the compass. It was hunger that drove us to exploration. And it took a depression to teach us the real value of a job.

Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake."
(Victor Hugo 1802-85)

I walked by his house today........and this is my prayer as i try and lay my head down this stormy night

gates

2007-03-02T00:24:00.000Z

Despite all my learning I simply cannot figure out what really is going on in this journey we call life. Just don’t seem to be able to get through the gate to enlightenment. It was the same with the 3 lessons in Church the other day (Exodus 34: 29-end, 2 Cor 3: 12-4.2, Luke 9: 28-36). Intuition tells me that meaning is there, but somehow I cannot put my finger on it. I guess many have been in this position before, unable to unlock the meaning of the text/of life. No amount of frantic searching seems to help. In fact, no amount of careful thinking seems to help either - though sometimes having the right book to hand is a useful starting point. Usually though, the key is not in a book, but lying in plain plain view in some obscure place i have yet to visit. The result is that life is a bit more of an attentive waiting game. Our eyes have to be hope for hints of meaning all the time.

Let me try and explain my rambling a little more clearly. I have always been haunted by many things, one of which is an image in T.S. Elliot's 'Ash Wednesday': "...where three dreams cross/ Between blue rocks". It's a beautiful and evocative line - both elusive and alliterative, with a really lovely half rhyme between 'cross' and 'rocks' based on moving the 'k' sound from the beginning to the end. I remember walking through a graveyard one night - it must have been about this time of year - the sun had already set, just. And as i walked through the Yew trees in the churchyard i saw the blue rocks - old tomb stones at the end of the day. Suddenly the whole scene made sense - particularly the following lines about Yew trees - the clue that Elliot planted long ago. And so did the later lines, 'Teach us to sit still/ Even among these rocks/ Our peace in His will.'

I guess I have one point to make. That is that our doing mearly provides context for our hearing. Living out our (Christian) vocation (though that seems an impossibilty to me most of the time) puts us in the right place to begin understanding it, but it doesn't instantly provide that understanding. Doing is the foundation for thinking. The text of the Bible still needs to be read, and who knows what we might find there if we dwell long enough with the text in context of our world. I guess at the end of the day advice is superfluous...the doing comes first i guess – must get through that bloody gate!

Spirituality for our times: Church in a Pub?

2007-02-28T11:26:00.000Z

In truth, I always thought that Jesus believed storytelling was nebulous enough. What I mean by that is that He spoke in parables, which by nature are hazy and call upon us to peel off their layers - the consequence of which is that they tend to stick around our souls for a long time - they journey with us, sustain us and nourish our hungry hearts. All the songs and stories I loved as a boy I still love, those my grandparents told about anonymous people; miners, steel workers, farmers and builders really interested me. I loved hearing tales about the struggles and hardships of the labourers, the pioneers, and I loved the old gospel spirituals that my grandfather adored so much – songs with tragedy born out of hardship but that looked forward to a better day and a more redemptive time – they echoed his own struggle, a struggle I am proud to be connected to in some way to this day.

I was remembering today a conversation I had with His Eminence Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O’Connor. Over a drink he said that he saw ‘the failings of the Church in very stark terms’, and that, ‘the Church must always be reformed.’ Moreover, he stated that ‘the Church has nothing to lose by admitting its faults.’ Cormac is a remarkable man, and I find his humility intoxicating.

What impressed me most about him when he stayed in Guernsey was that even in his position he had lost none of his compassion for ordinary people. I found him to be at his most influential when he was out of the limelight - perhaps sharing a beer at the bar with those everyday folk he seems to have a real pastoral heart for. I say this with good reason.

The passive majority expect the church to be guardians of the Christian tradition. Most do not attend church themselves, primarily because they wish it would change. Few sit back and expect the church to perform various tasks on their behalf. Most post-Christian people no longer describe themselves as religious, but they do feel the need for a place of community that allows an articulation of their spiritual impulses. The wave of interest in spirituality from our post-modern culture has caught secularists by surprise. It’s as if (using evangelical language) we are in the midst of a revival.

As John Drane notes, ‘it is fashionable to be green and spiritual.’ We must stop castrating the emerging culture and become the incarnate community we are called to be, and so live among it. Too much Christian spirituality contains Hellenistic dualism of body/spirit. Mike Riddell suggests that the result of this is, ‘a spirituality which is disembodied, disengaged and ill at ease with normal human existence.’ If, as His Eminence suggests, the church should be willing to reform, it will need to find both the spirituality of physical life, and the physicality of spiritual expression.

I have friends who pioneer a remarkable church in Belfast. What is so extraordinary about it is this - it is a pub. I would describe it as a place specifically for those on the fringes of, or dropped out of, church for whatever reason. ‘Ikon’ aims to provide opportunity for expression of and enquiry into the Christian faith in a relaxed pub environment. It opens its doors to all comers. It is for those on the edge. It has attracted those who are hurting, those who have lost their way, and those who are unsure where they fit.

It has aimed to provide a forum that fosters friendship, listens to questions and strengthens frail faith. If anyone is now feeling a little uneasy it might be helpful to return to the life of a God-man who roamed this planet a couple of thousand years ago. Whilst Jesus was certainly someone who learned to let go of everything (including life itself) he also gained a reputation as a glutton and a drunkard. Now, ask yourselves how one earns that sort of reputation.

The truth is public houses have always been a focal point of community – a place of conversation, of feasting; in short, a place of celebration and belonging. Sure they’ve had their problems and dark days, but what hasn’t? To celebrate is to transform, to make the ordinary special – or maybe to recognise the extraordinariness of the everyday. Maybe, even today, as people sit around a bar, suddenly there is another punter, another voice, another presence…just maybe.

For those who are looking for a rhythm of spirituality that has roots but is not too ‘churchy’ Ikon seems to be a helpful signpost pointing on beyond itself. I would describe it as an excellent idea for connecting and relating to those who feel threatened by traditional church, and for those who have a had bad experiences and been let down. It also brings credibility to those who think that churches today have lost touch with modern times, and are stuck in the past. Ikon is an encouraging example of reformation, and those precious humans who nurture it are to be commended in encapsulating dynamic vision whilst holding a fresh vitality lacking in many churches today.

Quite naturally we judge the authenticity of the church by experiencing the community and mystery within it. What is it that people experience within church, and does that differ with what people share in the public house? Do both provide a sense of security and inclusiveness? Is one characterized by a concern for boundaries and controls, where most of the people are very much the same? And is the other characterized by its embracing of diverse types of people, who might be at different stages of their journey, but who are bound together by their commitment to one another? I am not suggesting any answers here, but merely provoking questions.

We often describe church as the community of faith, but all too often (because of inherited definitions of institutional membership) it is the one thing that many people fail to find. Douglas Coupland alludes to this in much of his work, but particularly in Shampoo Planet, where he suggests that church community has ‘too many experiences but no relationships.’ Ultimately the search for an authentic spiritual life is to discover and feel part of something greater than ourselves. Whether that is found to a greater or lesser degree in church than public houses I’m not sure. I suspect it may be found in both. Maybe the most important discovery here is that we have much to learn from one another?

Oh, ps, for the record I won a gammon joint at the meat draw last week……I guess there is a God

Colour

2007-02-27T14:44:00.000Z

Cezanne once said that 'Shadow is a colour as light is, but less brilliant; light and shadow are only the relation of two tones.'

.....sometimes though I guess we all wish for colour without shadow

.....just not sure it's possible

Reflection

2007-02-21T16:59:00.000Z

"Most true happiness comes from one's inner life, from the disposition of the mind and soul. Admittedly, a good inner life is difficult to achieve, especially in these trying times. It takes reflection and contemplation and self-discipline."
William L Shirer

i guess one of the greatest moments in anybody's growth and development as a human is when he or she no longer tries to hide from him or herself but determines to get acquainted with themselves as they really are...

The post with no title

2007-02-13T20:06:00.000Z

You know I have no clue as to what to say (this is the 7th time i have started this post - who knows what number it might reach), the truth is of late I have been lazy - I have been using too many images from the trusty engine searches of the www and not enough of my own. One of the most inspiring, moving and brutally honest blogs out there has always been a sign post pointing on beyond itself to the landscape of my heart - the place where I, if I am honest, am afraid to sojourn to. Recently I have come across another intoxicating blog where original images enhance and sustain the narrative they are dovetailed too/to?

So, my narrative is, well non existant - the photographs are of the newly enhanced local (watering hole) - it's gone from being a sports bar to a North African delight...

...thanks Jen and Anna - here's to original photography

From the mouths of babes

2007-02-10T07:10:00.000Z

My son Samuel (just shy of 4) has always had a fascination with the epic depiction of life revealed by the creative genius of the blue planet. From an early age he has sat and watched Mr Attenborough wax lyrical about everything from blue whales to plangton - and loved every second - so for christmas he got the next chapter - Planet Earth

The makers of The Blue Planet present the epic story of life on Earth. Five years in production, over 2000 days in the field, using 40 cameramen filming across 200 locations, this is the ultimate portrait of our planet. A stunning television experience that combines rare action, unimaginable scale, impossible locations and intimate moments with our planet's best-loved, wildest and most elusive creatures. From the highest mountains to the deepest rivers, this series takes you on an unforgettable journey through the challenging seasons and the daily struggle for survival in Earth's most extreme habitats.

Where am I going with this? Well, the other day I read an article stating that there are just a few thousand tigers left, only seven hundred mountain gorillas and just one hundred Iberian lynx. Now Samuel loves animals and I mean LOVES them and was interested in the article I was reading. When I told him that if attitudes and systems didn't change then some of these animals may not exist when he was my age. He said nothing (which is unusual) just stared off into his imagination I guess.

Later that night whilst watching the afore mentioned planet earth he broke the silence by announcing that 'it was very good that he had this dvd because when I am your age daddy some of these animals may not exist'....then he looked straight at me and said, 'but I would rather them be alive than just on my television, that would be better wouldn't it daddy?'

.....yes, i said, it would

There are twice as many privately owned tigers in America as there are in the wild across the world. Maybe 3,000 to 4,500 Bengal tigers, 1,500 Indo-Chinese tigers and 500 Sumatran tigers and there may be 20-30 Souh China tigers left - if they aren't extinct already. In the past 150 years, 93% of tigers' original habitat has been lost; in the last 100 years the world's tiger population has declined by 95%.

There are thought to be around 30,000 orang-utans in the wild in Borneo and Sumatra; they tend to inhabit lowland forest, in fertile land coveted by farmers. Their habitats are fast disappearing as Indonesia expands its palm oil production (Palm oil is the second largest oil crop after soy)....I don't need to explain what will happen to the orang-utan if this continues

It seems a crime that the leatherback turtles, having been around for 150 million years (outliving dinosauurs and asteroid impacts) should decline 95% in just 20 years because of our fishing practice - longline fishing use a kind of hook (thousands of them) where turtles become trapped - evidently switching to a different type of hook would drastically reduce turtle by-catch

Ellen MacArthur last month said the albatross was "the most amazing bird i've been lucky enough to see" Well, 19 out of 21 species of these iconic birds are threatened with extinction - seems longline fishing does as much damage above the water as it does below

Cod is not the most attractive of fish, but we will miss it (particularly in Britain - fish and chip shops big business is cod and chips) when it's gone, and it's population rapidly decreasing. If we carry on fishing at the rate we do cod will be off our menus in less than 15 years.

Only 100 are left in the wild. The world's most endangered cat lives not in Africa, nor Asia but in Western Europe! If it becomes extinct it will be the first big cat the world has lost since the sabre-toothed tiger 10,000 years ago....

In the forests around Africa's Great Lakes (Rwanda, Uganda and the DRC) there are around 700 mountain gorillas left - poaching and habitat is an ongoing problem

There are only 100 Western Pacific grey whales left in our oceans - and only 2 dozen or so females of breeding age

They used to roam in colonies from Lebanon all the way to France, but now the Mediterranean monk seal survive in two main colonies - only between 300-500 have survived. Fishing again seems to be a problem

Sea ice is shrinking at a rate of 10% a year - in 30 years the arctic could have no ice at all during the summer. Polar bears live on this ice and drift for miles hunting - they have recently been seen swimming in 60 miles of open sea - at this rate by 2040 the ice back will have dropped back significantly enough to see a huge decline in the biggest of bears

I am no expert but could I suggest that we are not being good stewards of this precious gift called earth - I find it ironic that multinationals such as Nestle (again!) are part responsible for the decline of tigers (they buy coffee beans from illegal plantations which the tigers used to inhabit) - Shell and Gazpron whose gas and oil platform development is a threat to sea life. Not to mention that man in the White House who refuses to sign the kyoto agreement because there is no proof that global warming and gas emissions are connected - well last time i looked there was no proof that the Almighty exists either, but evidently he still believes in Him......sobering isn't it. I hope all these remarkable creatures are still around for our children and children's children to enjoy

2007-02-06T11:52:00.000Z

no words today.....

Our last best word

2007-02-04T08:38:00.000Z

Scarcely a tribe of East Africa was left unaffected in one way or another from a suffering unimaginable when the slave traders arrived from Arabia backed by their European financers. They travelled many miles into the African Plains to abduct their slaves before heading back to the coast toward Zanzibar. The last stop on the mainland was (and still is) an eerie place called Bwagamoyo.

Legend says that Bwagamoyo takes its name from the two Swahili words, bwaga and moyo. Bwaga means to throw down or put down, and during the long safari (journey), the leader of the group of slaves would, at certain times, shout to the other porters, “Bwaga mizigo” which means put down your loads. Moyo means heart. Bwaga moyo literally means to put down your heart.

I remember standing at Bwagamoyo awaiting the arrival of a ferry to Zanzibar nearly two years ago. As I stood at the waters edge I realised the enormity of its name. It was the place a captured slave, after his gruelling journey from the plains of East Africa, would lay down his heart, it was the place all hope was lost, because this would be the last time he would stand on the soil of his homeland before his trip to Zanzibar and beyond to a lifetime of cruelty and despair.

Two hundred years ago, British politician William Wilberforce and a small group of loyal friends took on the most powerful forces of their day to end the slave trade. His mentor was John Newton, the slave-trader-turned-songwriter who wrote the world’s most popular hymn, "Amazing Grace."

This year marks the 200th anniversary of the abolition of the slave trade, but the work of justice and mercy continues. Today 27 million men, women, and children are still enslaved around the globe.

Watch this and if it does not make you weep then I doubt you have a pulse....as Philip Yancey says, this is truly our last best word

* seems some are having problems with the link, if so, go to www.amazinggracemovie.com and play the trailer...

Love and Fear

2007-02-02T09:48:00.000Z

"On his right hand Billy tattooed the word love,
and on his left hand the word fear.
And in which hand he held his faith,
was never clear..."
(Bruce Springsteen)

You know, I think without its opposite each is impotent, one can't exist without the other...

....I mean, Jesus blood never failed me, but sometimes we have to make a pillow from hard ground...

Sometimes...

2007-01-28T17:20:00.000Z

I heard about a moment of grace today. One of those moments that meets you where you are but leaves you never the same again.

There's this couple who have been trying to have children for over fifteen years – you name it they have attempted it – all options and efforts have met with abject and heart-wrenching failure. Their sadness has been unspeakable. But just last week they adopted 3 children – they have all this love that for reasons not known to me they cannot give to a child born to them. So they are adopting an entire family. 3 children who no longer have their parents now have a new home and family. The children have been in care for some time since mum and dad died and this couple couldn’t bare to see the 3 of them separated so they took them all…

Just sometimes I am reminded that there is still a goodness in this world that I cannot put into words worth following, sometimes….

Epiphany

2007-01-22T08:36:00.000Z

'I stand
And suddely understand
That you, Deep Night,
Surround me and play with me,
And i am stunned...

Your breath comes over me.
And from a vast, distant solemnity
Your smile enters me.'
(Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Vast Night")

Here's a secret - the dark side of life is our salvation. I wise old priest just told me this with most of his breakfast still round his mouth. Old in years and carrying the scars of many a struggle, sill weary with his fight with the bottle this beautiful imperfect man makes me smile and think every morning when we share a coffee and a story of two. So this morning his wise words were that unless we become aware (that darkness is our salvation) of this fact, we are doomed to beware of it.

In his famous poem, 'The Dark Night of the Soul', St. John of the Cross suggests that our spiritual journey culminates in a freedom that allows us to live beyond the 'imprisonment of our own obsessions'. At the end of the poem he expresses this by saying:
'I abandoned and forgot myself...
Leaving my cares
Forgotten among the lilies.'

In my experience though it is not always easy for us to distinguish between a moment of dying and the moment of freedom given in new birth, and I think what my wonderfully eccentric friend was pointing towards was that our culture has a kind of collective blindness because it avoids the shadow side of life, and so consequently a pervasive loss of meaning ensues. He has gone off to walk his dogs now, though in truth I think they walk him...

For some reason this has got me thinking about epiphany, because this too has its dark side. I had a funny conversation the other day with someone whose theology is shall we say a little more to the right than mine. This person was talking to me about the 3 kings who brought wonderful gifts to the Christ Child. I couldn't help myself (I know I should try harder) but I said, yes but you know they weren't kings, and we don't really know how many of them actually travelled. They 'were' kings she replied, slightly indignant. What followed was a rather awkward bit of dialogue where I (without success) suggested that a better translation of the word 'Magi' was wizard or sorcerer, and that these strange visitors were probably more Tolkeinesque than we would like to recognise. Interesting isn't it that God should use a bunch of wizards (pagans) from somewhere probably around Baghdad to bring such important gifts for his son...a bit of a paradigm shift one could say.

I reckon Epiphany is a sort of paradigm shift. The long, slow history of Israel's relationship with God gave rise to advances in religion, gradually displacing polytheism and henotheism as the dominant models of the divine. It provided a platform for progressive political reckoning and drove forward advances in ethical reasoning, raising real concerns for truth and justice. But the framework in which it dealt with all these issues guaranteed that the solutions offered to the problems of human existence were so much wall-paper over the cracks of our godlesseness, sticking plasters over the wounds of our nature.

The cornerstone of Old Testament thinking thinking is obedience to a powerful lawmaker. Such thought builds an image of God that inspires awe and reverence - but fails to save us. It makes justice a matter of doing what you are told for fear of the consequences rather than doing what we should for love of our neighbour, and thereby undermines the very freedom that makes us human. And worse, it drives those who would be truly free to aim at the wrong goals. Sinful humans seeking to become like God become potent dictators with power and control.

So it should come as no surprise that, at a critical stage in the history of Israel, at the right moment, one man should turn the world upside down. God arrives, not with new improved laws designed to enforce a new way of acting human, but to demonstrate once and for all a new way, the right way, of being human. The lust for power is transformed into the commitment to service. Obedience to the law is replaced by integrity of the heart.

People making New Year's resolutions seems to reflect the desire for paradigm shifts in our individual lives. And we know how often they fail. I grew up with Dr Suess's 'The Grinch that Stole Christmas'. And I am still moved by the moment when that poor, twisted man stands on the mountain top, having achieved the pinnacle of his ambition, surrounded not by his own things, but possessing the property of all the people below. As the people arise with the dawn, and gather in the square, and sing for joy at the birth of the Christ-Child, something clicks. Epiphany happens. The Grinch's heart grew two sizes that day.

As a community, we still have our niggling problems but there are signs perhaps less dramatic than turning water into wine, but nevertheless signs of something new, paradigm shift, epiphany, call it what you will: Strange wizards from Baghdad bringing good news - our dark night of the soul becoming the very thing that sets us free......

the mystery of real beauty

2007-01-19T18:14:00.000Z

'The Rose is without why
She blooms because she blooms
She does not care for herself
Asks not if she is seen.'
(Angelus Silesius)

Father O'Donohue suggests that to participate in beauty is to come into the presence of the Holy - that everything we feel, think and do is already happening within the divine shelter. He concludes that to know this is to know one's real beauty.

So I guess we have a pretty fucked up understanding of what real beauty is and looks like - i reckon it's about divine identity - the freedom and clarity of simply being yourself. Nothing else is needed.

Pip is right, no-one is ugly, just beautifully imperfect...

Possibility

2007-01-18T06:58:00.000Z

And even when the trees have just surrendered
To the harvest time
Forfeiting their leaves in late September
And sending us inside

Still I notice you
When change begins
And I am embraced for colder winds
I will offer thanks for what has been and what’s to come
You are autumn

And everything in time and under heaven
Finally falls asleep
Wrapped in blankets white, all creation
Shivers underneath

And still I notice you
When branches crack
And in my breath on frosted glass
Even now in death, you open doors for life to enter
You are winter…
(Nichole Nordeman, 2000)

In a tender moment of decision Gandalf gently, but with strong purpose, turns to Frodo and says, ‘All you have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given you.’

Sometimes our demons shout down the better angels in our brain…

Sometimes there is a sadness so deep no tears will come…

Sometimes in the night there is a deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars…

As I find myself at the threshold of a new year, one question remains at the forefront of my psyche; what am I to be? As 2007 begins, I realise that I am no further forward, just further along. Every year seems to pass with greater speed and my concern as each closes has to do with what both I and we as a community have accomplished in those 365 days. After all life is not about just being good, surely its purpose has to do with being good for something.

So as we quite naturally pause and reflect at the beginning of this New Year on the issues of the day so, just maybe, we can put more energy into the more cerebral aspects of life. We are by nature ritual makers and there is something profound in that rite of passage that allows us to learn from and let go of the past. I am not talking here about some emotionally charged resolution that will be disregarded when normality once more reigns come mid January. Rather I am speaking of our duty to the soul. It is not just culture which is trying to balance religious obligation with secular freedom; there is a paradigm shift of the soul occurring where we wrestle with principles of inner reform. Intellectual ambivalence, cultural dismissiveness, and prioritization of our values have alienated us from the road less travelled. Modern Christianity has, unfortunately, provided us with a worldview that polarizes reason and faith, and so limiting (in Bunyan speak) the progress of pilgrims.

I meet too many spiritual refugees who have connected to something they believe to be true, yet know no longer know where to go to explore and develop that connection; people who, in the final analysis, are fearful that they may find themselves just beyond the love of God. So, is there a rhythm of worship, of living, that has roots, but is not too ‘churchy’, that reflects the human concerns of our time yet also lets heaven into our everyday world? - A rhythm that exposes the brutal reality of public life in the world of socio-political and economic darkness.

Yet for us to make holistically moral judgements for the betterment of the weak we may need to nurture connectors with that part of us which most of us dare not visit – the soul. For the Christian community to be the salt and light Jesus hoped for there must be a return to the deeply stirring art of lament and meditation, whereby the experiences and reflections contained are generated by a stirring which is not of our making.

My worry is that we so easily suburbanise our souls with theological band-aids out of a duty to be faithful to Christianity, and as a consequence our faith becomes parched and dry. Theologian Walter Bruggemann prudently observes that, ‘in Christian practice it is worth noting that in this season of cultural displacement in the Western church, the “exilic” voices of the Old Testament take on new authority and pertinence, among them the lament tradition that was never needed before in a Western church tradition that characteristically enjoyed hegemonic support and favour.’ New rhythms rooted to rich traditions of the past, yet expressed contextually for post-modern people must be encouraged and experimented with. We must have the courage to journey into the emerging church.

I guess all I am saying here is that we will have to find new expressions of church in order that the Incarnation might be made apparent and real to people. The post-evangelical debate makes the point that relevance involves almost constant willingness to reshape the tradition, given the rapidly changing nature of our current context. Furthermore it stated that if the church neglects the reshaping then consequently we preserve a gospel which says something quite different from what Jesus actually communicated.

Whilst reading Exodus the other day, and I was struck by a comment made by God to Moses. Whilst in dialogue concerning the people of God in the wilderness, He says this; ‘Why do you cry out to me? Tell the Israelites to go forward.’ When we look back at the history of the movement of God there have always been those wanting to return to bygone halcyon days (which I’m not sure ever really existed). Perhaps that should not surprise us. Faith though requires both courage and risk. To use the analogy from the story of the Exile, it just might be that we are called to enter the new land to tell the inhabitants the story of the Christ. And so it is at the genesis of 2007 we inhabit opportunity. It may be time to go back to the drawing board, and begin to reconcieve church as a by-product of following Jesus rather than a multinational with a gospel franchise.

I know that's all very theological, but it is rooted in human opportunity. You remember when we were young? Everything seemed possible and our future almost limitless, dreaming came without effort. Yet I guess most of us look back now and look at life more with sober reassessment, and perhaps we must look at our dreams realsitically even - who knows.

Often, not always though, our results bring a sense of disappointment the older we get - the things we were going to do and become but never managed. Clearly, and I suppose this is the essence of my ramble, there is a need to confront the reality of our lives and dare I say it, destinies, but to do it in such a way that it enhances our lives rather than limit them. In and amongst all this realism though I can from time to time when I'm still enough, hear the child who used to dream...

As Emily Dickinson so truly tells us…we dwell in possibility.

ps, happy birthday dad x

Finding God where (s)he shouldn't belong

2006-12-09T16:52:00.000Z

I wonder what the homecoming of the human spirit will look like? Will it be like, as Father O’Donohue describes:
‘As stillness in stone to silence is wed
As a river flows in ideal sequence
As the moon absolves the dark of distance
As the breath of light awakens colour
As spring rain softens the earth with surprise
As the ocean dreams to the joy of the dance
As clay anchors a tree in light and wind
As twilight fills night with bright horizons
May beauty await you at home beyond.'

I’ve been trying to get my head round the Almighty, we’ve had a bit of a week together, my conversations (actually rants) have mirrored President Bartlett’s heated interaction with the Divine at Mrs Langenham’s(?!) funeral. And after all our altercations this week the only conclusion my thoughts have given me is that the more I know the less I understand. Life, with all its concurrent struggles and painful beauty, has brought me to the point where all the things I thought I knew I am now having to learn again. In the long run (and the long run is all there is), when everything is said and done, James was right; by their fruit shall we know the truthful ones. Shaped by the practice of church culture it just may be that I (and I don’t think I’m alone) have limited the context of the road to God. What do I mean by that? I mean that we have made God way too small.

Mystery is something sadly lacking in Western Christian spirituality, sure there are pockets of it, but they are pockets at best. Put bluntly the church’s response to Modernity put pay to that. We became the finest example of a culture preoccupied with answers rather than one who would embrace questions and mystery, and I would propose this is one of the major reasons as to why many people in the post-modern, post-Christian West struggle to connect with our Institution, and so consequently God.

For instance, where do we invest our love, passion and energy? Very few of us really go to the margins – the edge – partly due to the fear of what we will find, or because we are so conditioned that these are not the kind of landscapes that good Christian folk should be traversing. So often we are not looking. So often we are taught not to look, and because of that we become convinced that it is wrong to look. Unfortunately this is rather indicative of the lack of any mysterious, creative, imaginative, incarnate and relational connection that may possibly exist with those perceived to be outside the ‘chosen few’.

In reality we fail so often to authentically allow God’s presence in many a marginalised person’s world. Examples of this are littered in the Scriptures. I will vindicate my statement with the example of Peter. His reluctance to partake of specific foods was consistent with the Jewish tradition of holiness. This grew from a separatist approach to piety – that which divided, in church speak, the clean from the unclean. Here was a man who has followed the Christ in a way beyond even my imagination – but who didn’t realise the implications of the message of this same Christ until he met Cornelius.

For what it’s worth the Western church (all denominations included) needs to rediscover the mystery of what it means to be a friend of tax collectors, prostitutes, and drunkards. This will be messy and will not happen without a certain degree of theological tension. True holiness, real passion for humanity should not keep us from the margins of mystery – rather it should drive us into them - saturated in the faith of the one we follow. For within the margins we find God very much alive in places many of us would say (s)he doesn’t belong.

It seems to me that God is more involved in the love of humanity than the maintenance of an institution, and, as my friend Stocki says, ‘some may think this is blasphemy, but I believe it to be true. God lies here beside you in the gutter, while grace, like a mother, holds you.’

beauty now gone...

2006-12-07T03:28:00.000Z

...and i fear i have nothing to give, and i have so much to lose here in this lonely place called 3.30am...

still looking for the sails.....came across this, one of the many reasons my soul cannot find peace tonight...

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back. Don't be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never begin.
~anonymous~

the storm, both inside and out, still rages...

Life? This bloody world is on fire - in fact, it's raging

2006-12-06T00:02:00.000Z

Oh Little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie?
I refuse to sing this anymore....The Holy Land is anything but... and the truth is - it wasn't 2000 years ago either!
Graham Greene once said that, 'you cannot conceive of the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God' - i may be wrong but i think it will get worse before it gets better...

Our Lord,
We are waiting for your rebirth!
We are looking forward to your return...
Come and see...
The Grotto becomes Ghetto!
Despite the thick Walls surrounding your home,
We are shivering from cold…
Winter is bleak…
Summer is beak
Fall is freak
Spring is weak

The animals are no longer allowed to warm up your Grotto
The magii are not coming again..they are forbidden from visiting.
The Magi couldn’t climb up the wall. It is too dangerous and risky.

Herods are controlling the roads from Persia to Palestine.
It is unsafe...
Gifts are stolen…
No one dares to say by whom...!
If you question authorities you might be labeled
“Terrorist” and then
There will be war on terrorism

Baby Jesus come and see...
Your least brothers...
Are without shelters…
They lack every basic thing.
No... Human security...
Rachel is still weeping not only for her children but
also for her neighbors’ kids...
Rachel has died again today after seeing how her grave has
been misused!
She was upset... she loved to have a humble grave not a military fortress!!!
Rachel refused to violate human security of other kids
Rachel revolts because she doesn’t want
her people to worship a new golden cow called “security ”

Voices are heard in
Beit Hanon, Khan Younes ,
Nablus and Jenin and not only in Rameh …!
Crying and wailing – maiming
Justice is fading
Peace is laming
Reconciliation is wading
Healing is waiting

Baby Jesus ...
The Grinch has stolen Christmas
Children are for your waiting ..
Children are hoping…
They’d like to have a safe haven..
They love to live their life
Peacefully, gracefully ..
No fear! No Trauma! No Paranoia

If we are cold...
Your agape will warm us up
Your freedom and liberation beyond
Thought and imagination

Oh Lord! YOU emancipate
us despite all cuffs of
Enslavement and oppression
Your light will illuminate
Our path of transformation and reconciliation ...

Let us pray with the
Children and their families
Oh child of Cave… please expand the cave ... let it be
Bigger than the wall…
Please create tunnel underneath
To seek refuge at times of danger!
Let it be purified and warm

Our homeland is frigid
Our hearts are frozen
Our tears are pouring down
Christ is our hope
Building peace innerly and outwardly adobe by adobe
Life is again recreated in our veins as they throb
Blessed Christmas is a reminder that injustice is under probe
Benign victory will be yours and ours… we want to cope

(Zoughbi Zoughbi, Founder & Director of The Palestinian Conflict Resolution Centre, "WI'AM", in Bethlehem.)

4 am

2006-12-04T03:57:00.000Z

'i heard the laughter at the depot
but my tears fell like the rain
when i saw them place that long white casket
in the baggage coach of the evening train

the baby's eyes are red from weeping
its little heart is filled with pain
oh daddy cried they're taking mama
away from us on the evening train

as i turned to walk away from the depot
it seemed i heard her call my name
take care of my baby and tell him darling
that i'm going home on the evening train

i pray that god will give me courage
to carry on 'til we meet again
it's hard to know she's gone forever
they're carrying her home on the evening train'
(J Cash)

He wrestled with his demons all his life, thats why so many adored him, and why he was so loved - a broken man just trying to piece his life back together.

i thought the tears would stop,

but they don't.

how do we know where we belong?

the shadows,

the arc of the moon,

the autumn leaves that have fallen,

the ocean that is as blue as my eyes.

it's all so far far away,

the innocence of children playing...

what can we take when we go?

i have nothing to hold, nothing.

when i close my eyes i can picture my grandfather singing old gospels;

what does that mean?

broken down at the side of the road?

clipped wings that can no longer fly?

why when i look at me do i see you?

tonight it's hard to learn to breathe again,

but that's nobody's fault but my own...

...the wind is blowing and i can't get to the sails

that's what i'm feeling at 4am this morning

The Colour of Beauty

2006-11-27T12:54:00.000Z

'Most people don't look...
The gaze that pierces - few have it -
What does the gaze pierce?
The question mark.'

(Henri Cartier-Bresson)

2006-11-17T09:55:00.000Z

Just because it's legal, doesn't mean it's right

The Purpose of History

2006-11-13T08:50:00.000Z

To be honest i hadn't intended to write about Remembrance Day.

What do you say, what can anyone say? It all seemed a little too difficult, too hard - but then again that's what makes wirting so precious and meaningful, it was never meant to be easy, taking on sensitive subjects that are emotionally charged.

I have read many blogs, and one of the comments made on Awareness' site has stirred me to put fingers to keyboard. I guess in the end we do not choose art, art in fact chooses us, in the end I have to write...I have no choice. I have reflected much those well known lines from Laurence Binyon's poem 'For the Fallen', and this is what that pondering has evoked:

To be honest I have no interest in the easy options regarding the rights and wrongs of war and remembrance. To me it is clear enough that the foundation of western civiization is tied to Christian conceptions of morality, and western politics have been dramatically shaped by Christian thinking. It is equally clear that Christianity is an historical religion - it is founded upon coming to know God, not as an abstract deity in a remote heaven, but rather as a first century Palestinian artisan. but whilst this may be fascinating, it doesn't help our questions, so back to the beginning.

Central to my thinking is a question common to contemporary historiography: 'What is history?', but my question digs further, 'what is history for?'.

All our talk about abstract entities, like history, must be grounded in some type of human experience. just as talk of love is grounded in our experience of travel, so that our relationships can come to a cross-road or a dead end, they can soar or force us to bail out, they can be on track or come off the rails, they can go full steam ahead or founder. So our talk of history is grounded in our experience of personal identity, of being somebody. The language of history then, is the language of national character, of internal pressures and external affairs, of moral battles and political decisions. The end result is that our understanding of history is as important in forming our individual characters as individual characters are in shaping history.

On Remembrance Day in Britain, the National Day of Mourning in Germany, Armistice Day across the Commonwealth, in the United states, ceremonies, where people gather to remember events mostly outside there own experience.

It is now over 90 years since Binyon's poem was penned - almost 9 million soldiers fell - the entire population of Guernsey 150 times over!

These are the facts the bare figures - they are not history, rather its foundation.. History itself is the search for meaning among the facts, for explanation and understanding, for causes, for motivations, tricky situations, clumsy manipulations, brilliant solutions and skillful orchestrations - the effort to discern the difference between fickle fortune and sensible strategy, feckless folly and wise policy. It is an attempt to gain insight into who we are by looking closely at how we ended up where we are now. History puts the present into perspective. What we opt to recall shapes the decisions we take in future.

Only those who forgot the cry "never again' could have supported the invasion of Iraq, for example. As Ayn Rand so pithily put the point, "Every major horror of history was committed in the name of an altruistic motive." Only those who forgot the true cost of war - to the victors as to the vanquished - could choose war before the exhaustion of other options.

I am beginning to believe more and more that there is a greater cost of war than that which is measured in cash, in body counts and privations at home. It is the dehumanizing damage done to the human soul

Our history is a tale of the influence of ignorance and greed, folly and violence pursued by the politically powerful, but played out in the lives of ordinary people - the one's who get hurt. If we do not learn from it, we are condemned to repeat it (something i found sobering as I explained why the sirens were sounding at 11am on the 11th of November). What value is democracy to an indifferent or ignorant public?

Salvation, the goal of all true religion, demands that we remember - WE remember - both the evils that can infest even a noble political system and the good that can spring forth from even the most hardened heart. Salvation demands that we remember - and repent of the evil; for if we united by our common history and our common humanity can hold the powerful to account and demand the good of all over the greed of the minority, only we can promote the pursuit of peace, can insist on common decency and fair policy.

So, in church yesterday, as I bowed in sorrow and reverence before the dead, I swore to myself once again to pit historical truth against fanatical propaganda: a genuine grief against moral indifference. 'Never again' That is what i said to myself - The violent must be held to account - and I pray to God for the strength to arm the next generation with the moral courage and vision to make it so.

hidden beauty

2006-11-09T17:11:00.000Z

"Unexpected til we came & saw it
Unbelievable as soon as seen
Hit the mark despite not aiming for it
Isn't that how things have always been ?"

[Bertolt Brecht] - German Poet and Playwright

Dedicated to my dear friend Pip, who sees what most do not...

Praying the mystery

2006-11-07T08:51:00.000Z

Not much in the tank at present. I am praying for wisdom, trying to pause from thinking too much and so empty my mind. I need to stop the noise and listen to the still voice of the heart...praying the mystery

Paidraig (by the way, God was having a very good day when this lovely man was knit together - you will not find a kinder more gentle soul around) sent a beautiful prayer of Michael Leunig when he commented on my last post. It has taken me back into his work...this is all I have this week

Dear God
Let us prepare for winter.
The sun has turned away from us and the nest of summer hangs broken in a tree.
Life slips through our fingers and,
as darkness gathers,
our hands grow cold.
It is time for reflection and resonance.
It is time for contemplation.
Let us go inside.

AMEN.
(Michael Leunig - 'A Common Prayer: A cartoonist talks to God' Lion, 1990)

2006-11-02T09:40:00.000Z

The seaon is changing, you can feel it, almost smell it in the air
Chapters, verses, times move on, summer gives way to autumn,
the coming of the fall

I knew this week would be hard
Saying goodbye is never easy
I knew people would describe a me I didn't recognise
I knew I would struggle to respond
I knew I would miss the office,
not so much the physical space but the creativity that has been nurtured there
and so given birth to a dreaming we never thought possible

For ten years I have tried to guide a community
together we have pushed our souls to see a bigger picture, a better way

And on tuesday the chapter closed
The last paragraph penned
The last sentence lived,
and as I looked around that room for the last time,
I smiled,
closed the door, the full stop placed

I will miss them all
the kind ones
the gossips
the bigots
the confused
I will miss them all

We have struggled together, and the struggle will go on,
but not with me
I have a new chapter to write
and I have no clue as to what it will look like

I have spent many happy days here,
but am bound elsewhere now

On Monday I remembered an old friend with tears
The one person I wish was around to be my guide
But he's not, he's gone and has been for 3 years
I love you Mike....always will, please check on me from time to time

When one stands on the edge of the desert,
it’s hard to see beyond the shimmering haze which dances on the horizon.
Whatever’s out there, I will not find it by peering into the difference.
I actually have to leave where I am to strike off into the unknown.
Along the way I will find places and experiences by which to learn to orient myself.
There are no maps.
There is just an invitation to enter the uncharted territory which stretches in front of me.

Just like your daddy done

2006-10-30T04:32:00.000Z

It's nearly 4.30 in the morning and I can't sleep - am watching hi-fidelity - always liked it, truth is I always thought Mr Cusak was a very underrated actor

But the reason I am writing is because about 17 minutes into the film after his break up with laura he puts on a record - and that record was the one that takes me to my happy place - it takes me home, to a home I've never known. It's the record/album/CD that if i only had time to listen to one record/album/CD this would be it - it defines who I am and who I aspire to be, embodies the struggles of my childhood, the hopes of my adolescence and the out working of an ever developing future

....It was 1981 and my cousin Anne (she was 15 at the time and i thought she was the coolest person on the planet) had just bought The River by Bruce Springsteen....I will never forget how I felt when I first heard it - it left me speechless and still sends shivers down my spine...maybe I was blind, but it made me believe that anything was possible, that I didn't have to do what my daddy done - that I could sculpt my own world - it's an album that still to this day helps me get my shit together. The line, 'is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse?' still haunts me but forces me to look beyond my own cynicism to what might be...Springsteen will always be the quintessential romantic who captures the hopes and dreams of the ordinary and makes them believable and tangible - his works continue to express the inexpressible to me

So, you got an hour to live, or you're off to some deserted island and can only take one record, what would it be - what's the one album/CD that takes you home?

Lest we forget

2006-10-27T09:44:00.000+01:00

May we never forget those who have given what they cannot keep to gain what they cannot lose

Living for a cause greater than ourselves enables us to face eternity with the strength that comes from faith. There is assurance that even today, in our culture of isolation and death, there is hope.

We need to hear stories of many people who overcame, or are overcoming their greatest obstacles. They don't present a cure-all from life's struggles and problems, but for those ready to go beyond quick-fix rememdies - i hope stories, tragic as it is, like Rachel's offer stepping stones to a more fulfilled life

There is a need, a real need, in a world where the air is fast becoming to angry to breathe for unflinching courage and the willingness to take risks against terrible injusticies - you can't fight fear with fear - only love...

Rachel Corrie 1979-2003

'On a sunday down in Gaza
Rachel Corrie took her stand
As the bulldozer kept coming
Her blood was shed upon the land

But she held high the torch for freedom
She lit a flame without a doubt
For the ones the world's forgotten
It's a flame that won't go out...'
(Garth Hewitt)

'Many of you will of heard varying accounts of the death of Rachel Corrie, maybe others will have heard nothing of it. Regardless, I was 10 metres away when it happened 2 days ago, and this is the way it went.

We'd been monitoring and occasionally obstructing the 2 bulldozers for about 2 hours when 1 of them turned toward a house we knew to be threatened with demolition. Rachel knelt down in its way. She was 10-20 metres in front of the bulldozer, clearly visible, the only object for many metres, directly in it's view. They were in Radio contact with a tank that had a profile view of the situation. There is no way she could not have been seen by them in their elevated cabin. They knew where she was, there is no doubt.

The bulldozer drove toward Rachel slowly, gathering earth in its scoop as it went. She knelt there, she did not move. The bulldozer reached her and she began to stand up, climbing onto the mound of earth. She appeared to be looking into the cockpit. The bulldozer continued to push Rachel, so she slipped down the mound of earth, turning as she went. Her faced showed she was panicking and it was clear she was in danger of being overwhelmed. All the activists were screaming at the bulldozer to stop and gesturing to the crew about Rachel's presence. We were in clear view as Rachel had been, they continued. They pushed Rachel, first beneath the scoop, then beneath the blade, then continued till her body was beneath the cockpit. They waited over her for a few seconds, before reversing. They reversed with the blade pressed down, so it scraped over her body a second time. Every second I believed they would stop but they never did.

I ran for an ambulance, she was gasping and her face was covered in blood from a gash cutting her face from lip to cheek. She was showing signs of brain hemorrhaging. She died in the ambulance a few minutes later of massive internal injuries. She was a brilliant, bright and amazing person, immensely brave and committed. She is gone and I cannot believe it.
(Tom Dale)

The Divine Voice

2006-10-25T23:14:00.000+01:00

You know sometimes i think i have my head way too far up my ass, that's why i removed this post - cognitive dissonance - seems others think differently...thank you, i guess actually we all suffer from self-doubt and worth

I guess you can't help no-one if you can't tell them the right story...

I once heard apologetics described as 'love in practice to the thinking man and woman' - i like that because for many people Christianity is a memory or being able to justify religion as a fact or concept without feeling the stunning magnitude of its ethical demands - it's as if the heart of faith has been hidden from us. And so consequently many people are like frail urchins of a graceless existence whose hope lies not in feudal promises but in the luminescence of the human spirit.

Whether driven by courage or desperation many a persons promised land is reached because of a decision to travel the hard road of free-will and self determination in search of peace/love/god. The omnipotent wishing to stride through the front door of heaven with full credentials is something of a distant past - nowadays i get the feeling that the humble simply wish to avoid hell.

And so off the back of my last post, i kind of feel that the pressing difficulty for the communication of faith in present times is the lack of common ground with others; this has little to do with a lack of interest in the central questions addressed by Christianity, rather everything to do with the perception that the church has little authentic involvement in the vital issues.

The abiding purpose surely is to begin to attempt to make some sense out of the world we find ourselves in, with the hope that we might find ways to speak about the divine within it - to quench the thirst for something 'real' enough to withstand the rigours of existence. My take? When there are tears and laughter alongside ritual and prayer and singing, then we will know that Jesus is once more in the world, and i must remeber that the divine voice is not always expressed in words - it is made known as heart-consciousness - a language i think we all need to learn...

Why? It makes us humble, and humility opens our ears. It enables us to acknowledge the truth of who we are and who God is. Only the humble can understand the deep resonance of God's voice in the whole of creation. humility withstands any arrogant tendancy to reduce scriptures and doctrines to our purposes. When we live in humble presence, God may just reveal things to us whilst we read insights that transcend human experience.

Am pretty sure i have blogged this story before, it does though embody the foundation of faith for me:
There's a scene in Thornton Wilder's play 'The angel that trouble the waters' where a doctor suffering from meloncholy comes to the magic pool with healing powers to be healed of his troubles and his gloom and sadness but the angel guarding the water tells him he cannot enter. The man says, 'but how can I live this way?' the angel again says, 'I'm sorry this moment is not for you, this healing is not for you'. So the doctor again pleads 'but I have to get into the water, I can't live this way' And the angel then says...no this moment is not for you, and he says, but how can i live this way? And the angel says to him, doctor, without your wounds, where would your power be? it is your melancholy that makes your lower voice tremble into the hearts of men and women, the very angels in heaven cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children of this earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living...in loves service, only wounded soldiers can serve....

An Unfinished Story

2006-10-21T10:11:00.000+01:00

"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose"
Jim Elliott

I never thought I would ever become anything resembling a 'thinker', let alone someone who actually gets paid (beer money) to put those thoughts on to paper (well, keyboards and then ping them off through cyber-space to an editor) - I was thrown out of English Literature for asking too many questions about Mrs Macbeth's sexual leanings, I became far too animated in my longing to know what she really wanted when she cried, 'un-sex me!' - and most people just assumed I would make it as a rubgy or football player (injuries meant neither were an option).

In the end I turned to the only thing I was good at - the arts

And so here I am thinking about some things far too much, and some things not nearly enough...

Today I have been thinking about heaven@earth.com. Let me explain that one a little. For me the obvious theological centre is the incarnation, and I wonder if this was a kind of hotmail address that Jesus had during his 30 odd years here? Think about it - he's a long way from home and just maybe he picked up messages using this email? Too far fetched? I'm not so sure...

The Kingdom of God is exactly that - heaven, here now and present. C.S. Lewis alludes to this in his remarkable work, 'The Great Divorce' - that heaven is an intensification of life rather than an abstraction from it. If that is so, finding heaven isn't about waiting until we die for some etheral nirvana, but having our eyes opened to what is already here.

'Thin places' (like Iona and Greenbelt) are spots where heaven becomes easier to experience through some sort of warp in the divine force field. God is present everywhere and anywhere - heaven is all around us - even in and through the mundane and dare I say it, the profane.

Faith therefore does not involve an escape or withdrawal from life, but a radical plunge into it and love for it. Because of creation and the incarnation the earth is sacred. It is the womb and the dreaming of the hopes of God, and so it is that we must honour the earth and respect it by the way we tend it. Not only would I say that heaven is in earth but that after the ascension, earth is in heaven: the risen Christ has nail holes in his hands and a scar in his side from a spear - in truth, humanity is now a very real and visible part of the Godhead

The eucharist is one way of making this visible - the fact that earthly life is suffered with heavenly glory - perhaps we should stop hoping for the end of history when God will call 'a wrap', and start working with God in transforming history, here and now - midwives, if you like.

Just maybe we won't eventually go to live where God is, but rather that God has already moved to where we are and is planning to stick around until earth becomes heaven - heaven@earth.com? Who knows, is that heresy or is it that, maybe, I think too much

Whatever, as we journey we have 3 options
i, to be alive and thirsty
ii, to be dead
iii, to be addicted

There are no other choices. Most of the world lives in addiction; most of the church has chosen to be dead. Followers of the carpenter are called to a life of longing....

Transfusion

2006-10-18T10:10:00.000+01:00

A young girl was suffering from a rare form of blood disease. Her only hope was to receive a transfusion from someone with exactly the same blood type as hers. After testing various members of the girl's family, it was discovered that her ten year old brother had a precise match.

The doctor talked to him, and gently raised the possibility of his providing a transfusion for his sister. 'Your sister is dying,' he explained, 'but your blood would be able to save her. Are you willing to give your blood?' The boy hesitated for a moment, and the doctor saw that he was anxious at the prospect. But the lad quickly agreed to the process.

After the transfusion, the doctor went to visit the brother to see how he was. 'Tell me ,' implored the boy, 'how long until I die?' Only then did the doctor realise his young patient's misunderstanding, and know that he had been willing to give his life so that his sister might live.

Ironic subersive art?

2006-10-15T15:58:00.000+01:00

"...Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.
So what do you say?”
They said this to test him,
so that they could have some charge to bring against him.
Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger.
But when they continued asking him,
he straightened up and said to them,
“Let the one among you who is without sin
be the first to throw a stone at her.”
Again he bent down and wrote on the ground.
And in response, they went away one by one,
beginning with the elders.
So he was left alone with the woman before him.
Then Jesus straightened up and said to her,
“Woman, where are they?
Has no one condemned you?”
She replied, “No one, sir.”
Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you...”

Now did he write or did he draw? And if so, what did he write or draw? What mark came from his fingers to bring about such a remarkable conclusion to this scene?

I think the marks in the sand we more powerful than his words, he was far more subversive, nuanced and cunning than we give him credit....but what the hell were those marks?

Encounter

2006-10-10T08:45:00.000+01:00

What was your greatest encounter with God?

And so it is.....

2006-10-03T18:22:00.000+01:00

sometimes we run from the hands of kindness and every now and then we run from the eyes of friends, but you know, sometimes an open door is just so so hard to find

for the record, i am not wallowing...just being real, because when we truly know our devils and our deeds, we need to be prepared to bleed

SLOW EMOTION REPLAY
(From the album "DUSK" by The The)

The more I see
The less I know
About all the things I thought were wrong or right
& carved in stone

So, don't ask me about
War, Religion, or God
Love, Sex, or Death
Because....

Everybody knows what's going wrong with the world
But I don't even know what's going on in myself.

You've gotta work out your own salvation.
With no explanation to this Earth we fall
On hands & knees we crawl
And we look up to the stars
And we reach out & pray
To a deaf, dumb & blind God who never explains.

Every body knows what's going wrong with the world
But I don't even know what's going on in myself.

Lord, I've been here for so long
I can feel it coming down on me
I'm just a slow emotion replay of somebody I used to be.

Learning to breathe

2006-09-24T13:24:00.000+01:00

I will not spoil this by trying to add words...sunrise this morning...

Our last best mystery

2006-09-21T11:06:00.000+01:00

Inspired by

Mister Tumnus' blog the other day I have been thinking about our last and best mystery, and I have decided that the eucharist is the real presence where the veil comes down; the mystery where the balance between light and darkness is apparent.

ps, wouldn't it be great if jesus really looked like that - i mean look at those feet - and what is that waist-coat doing?

David Byrne talks about 'Jesus Camp'

2006-09-18T12:31:00.001+01:00

This scared the shit out of me! There is insanity and then there's the abyss... Byrne on Jesus Camp

Drink from the cup...

2006-09-16T08:06:00.000+01:00

"Bring on the wonder, bring on the song, i pushed you down deep in my soul for too long."

susan enan is a secret about to be shared with the world...find some space, sit quietly and listen.

The weight of inwardness

2006-09-15T08:21:00.000+01:00

Mercies.....they say are new every morning. I bloody hope so.

Rain on...

2006-09-14T10:15:00.000+01:00

Cary blogged this a while back now and just sent it to me in an email and it is my humble opinion that it is more than good enough for todays blog...as she said in her mail, very ikon and painfully beautiful

I'm the hunter who's killed by his dog
I'm the statue burnt down into lead
I'm the problem you don't want to solve
I'm the lover who dies in his bed

So rain on the pretty ones
Your useless lives don't speak to us
Rain on the pretty ones
You leave no footprints in the dust
Adventurous you used to be
But now you seem so dead to me

I'm the doctor with a needle in his arm
I'm the cartoon that makes you feel sad
I'm the secret that everyone has
I'm the cancer that never turns black

So rain on the pretty ones
Your useless lives don't speak to us
Rain on the pretty ones
You leave no footprints in the dust
Adventurous you used to be
But now you seem so dead to me

I'm the actor who's scared to perform
I'm the sunshine that hides in the clouds
I'm the father that couldn't be found
I'm the cuckoo that never flew south
I'm the Christian that cannot forgive
I'm the dreamer who jumps off the bridge
I'm the sinner who hates how he lives
I'm the liar who gets what he gives
(Ed Harcourt)

Masturbatory Worship and the Torah According to Gonzo

2006-09-13T08:13:00.000+01:00

Out of repsect for 9/11 and James Dean I have held off posting this until now. Anyone who knows me knows that I loathe the kind of worship that says it's all about 'Him' but in truth is all about me me me me me me. I call it Jesus Wank, because i find it loathsome and offensive - I mean God is my father and Jesus my saviour - they are not my boyfriends!

So when a friend sent me this link I nearly pissed my pants. Take a look and listen, it's fantastic!

It's All About ME ME ME ME ME

and talking of causing a stir, my good brother in alms Rabbi Niles has just written the "world of gonzo," it is 'rife with indignation, agitation, cynicism and a "biting urge to revolt," this book delivers such a soulful commentary that it could just as easily be called "Judaism Unplugged." Like musicians who return to the roots of their profession and play without electronica, Rabbi Goldstein, founding rabbi of the New Shul in Manhattan, reminds readers—whether they are new seekers or lapsed practitioners of Judaism—to confirm their knowledge of the "nuts and bolts" of their tradition before wistfully seeking the mystical. "Judaism, when presented in its best and most authentic light, doesn't coddle—it confronts," he says. Similarly, the rabbi pulls no punches, but manages to do so with the easy style of a coffeehouse conversation. Using a combination of Jewish history and personal anecdotes, he offers a wide range of alternative ways to explore Judaism individually or in small groups, if large congregations are not appealing. The extensive resource list that includes congregations, organizations and recommended reading promises to serve readers of all ages. With this edgy, funny, wise book, Goldstein may just have found a way to ensure the survival of the religion for another 6,000 years, - worth a look and maybe even a double purchase?? Every home should have them!

Joy and Sorrow

2006-09-12T08:03:00.000+01:00

Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was often times filled
with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the
potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes you spirit, the very wood that was hollowed
with knives?
When you are joyous,
look deep into your heart and you shall find
it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful
look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth,
you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay sorrow
is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at you board, remember
that the other is asleep upon you bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between you sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weight his gold and his silver, needs
must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
(from "The Prophet" By Kahlil Gibran)

In memory of James Dean
he was 21 and murdered in town last saturday night in St. Peter Port

What's in a name?

2006-09-08T09:07:00.000+01:00

(The lovely Dr Higgins, Father O'Donohue and Me...guernsey? guernsey? tax, tax, guernsey)

The other day someone asked me where I came up with the name 'Harbour of Ourselves'. Well, it found its genesis whilst on retreat (titled 'When you enter into freedom, possibility comes to meet you'), with the good people of Zero28 in Belfast last autumn. There, we were led by the wonderful mystic John O'Donohue, a man whose speech is poetry itself. Never is a word wasted, its as if his heart and mind are so in tune with one another beauty can't help but drip from his lips.

One particular gem stood out. He said, "A way of coming back to the harbour of ourselves is to ask who we are. It takes a whole lifetime to take your place in your own life. Solitude is given to you to receive yourself. Maybe dear friends it's time to illuminate God in the mirror of our souls?"

So often we are on the run from ourselves - yet maybe if we were to sit down and travel to the heart of our own darkness and face our demons, we begin to see that they don't have the power over us we once thought. So just maybe we should harvest time by the appropriate framing of invocation and blessing...and find the harbour of ourselves.

ps, the pic was taken by none other than the good doctor himself - dear god, a man who can multi-task!

words?

2006-09-06T21:16:00.000+01:00

sometimes there are none.......

The Journey

2006-09-05T17:09:00.001+01:00

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

© Mary Oliver.

Thought for the Day

2006-09-03T12:47:00.000+01:00

...given to me by my buddy Rudi:

The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways, truer answers, or more beautiful, promising potentialities

...wise words from one so hung over

The Peculiar People of Greenbelt

2006-09-02T09:34:00.000+01:00

My final thoughts about Greenbelt 06 revolve around Dave Andrews talk concerning the 'Sermon on the Mount. 'We can't change anybody but ourselves' was his soundbite and his seminar explored how we can practise the be-attitudes and be the change we want to see in the world.

I have read these words of Christ every day since I came home - I had forgotten how subversive Jesus was

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

For some reason I haven't been able to get two people out of my head, Mike Yac, who observed that the truth might indeed set you free, but it also makes you 'odd', and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who spoke of Christians as 'peculiar people'.

I meet too many people who find church a prisoner of rather than a liberator of culture. Martin Wroe prudently said of Mike Yaconelli, that he was a cultural rather than political radical, which is where he and Bonhoeffer differ. For me Yac offered much more than a cultural/theological soundbite. With Mike Yaconelli theory became practice, and truth took on a life of its own, which is where he and Bonhoeffer dovetail beautifully. Bonhoeffer during the ‘Germanizing’ (something he opposed by establishing the ‘Confessing Community’) of the church in the 1930’s understood that Christianity had to address the centre of life from within the less popular religious margins. I believe its fair to say that the kind of purification Hitler was demanding created somewhat of a discord between that which Bonhoeffer believed was an accurate reflection of the community of faith described by Christ.

Whether we like it or not, the community of Greenbelt are, as a people, very odd indeed. Bonhoeffer described those like us as peculiar. And maybe that has something to do with the fact that so many of us struggle to find a spiritual home, a community that allows us to be real about our messy lives without the worry of dogmatic peers watching and judging our every move.

Maybe it’s because we follow the inner voice rather than run with those voices that seem to make faith trendy or safe and even worse easy? I remember Mike Riddell saying to me once that his experience of life had led him to the conclusion that Christians who are unwilling to look outside the box are, as a rule, the most dysfunctional people around. There’s a very important lesson here. And that is the difference between someone who is dysfunctional and someone who is odd or peculiar. For us to understand this we need to unpack further Bonhoeffer’s peculiar people.

He begins to describe what will mark (what kind of behavior and character we should expect) this odd kind of person in is most famous work, The Cost of Discipleship. A book that, whilst being slightly academic in language and style, is both a thorough account and compelling interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount. Funny isn’t it how Jesus chose to share what many feel is the heart of his teaching, not in the Synagogue but on a mountainside – in the wilderness if you like to the outsiders – the peculiar people (Though if you read Luke’s account the Beatitudes they are not on a mountain at all – what’s that all about?). I suggest a twenty-minute recess at this point to pour a glass of wine, put on John Coltrane quietly and reflect on why…

Bonhoeffer's major concern is something he describes as cheap grace. He suggests that grace has become so watered down that it no longer resembles the grace of the New Testament, the costly grace of Jesus. In using the expression costly grace, Bonhoeffer is alluding to the grace that has brought pandemonium into the world by turning it upside down – it’s something Philip Yancey describes as ‘truly our last best word. It contains the essence of the gospel as a drop of water can contain the image of the sun’ , or as U2 suggest:

‘Grace, she takes the blame
She covers the shame
Removes the stain…
What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark no longer stings
Because Grace makes beauty out of ugly things
Grace finds beauty in everything
Grace finds goodness in everything’

In short, cheap grace is the intellectual consent to a doctrine without a real transformation in the life of the spiritual refugee. Real grace, in Bonhoeffer's assessment, is a grace that will cost a person their life. It is the grace made precious by the life of Christ that was given to acquire humankind’s deliverance and purpose. He suggests that cheap grace arose out of man's desire to be saved, but to do so without becoming a disciple that is willing to offer their life as a sacrifice for others. The doctrinal system of the church with its lists of behavioral codes becomes a substitute for the Living Christ, and this cheapens the meaning of discipleship.

The true believer must resist cheap grace and enter the life of active discipleship, and by that I mean more (and I’d wager my house Bonehoeffer would agree) than quiet times and the monthly prayer meeting. Faith can no longer mean sitting still and waiting for the Christian equivalent of nirvana. Christians must wake up and follow Jesus into the margins (wilderness even) of life. Bonhoeffer puts particular importance on the beatitudes for understanding how we practically live out an incarnate life in this foreign land, because within this teaching of Jesus we find an extraordinary list of qualities that actually do make us seem (to the majority) slightly odd or even, shall we say, peculiar.

Firstly there’s the poor in spirit. What’s so peculiar about them you may ask? Well, the truth is they have accepted the loss of ‘all things bright and beautiful’, you know, attributes like prestige, wealth, status etc. Most importantly though they accept the loss of self, (and we must remember the context of which the original crowd heard this and note the difference between that and our own culture) so allowing a more authentic following of the Carpenter from Nazareth. Those who mourn are those who try to live without the peace and prosperity of this world. Mourning is the conscious rejection of celebrating in what the world celebrates in, and so finding purpose and fulfillment in the life offered by the person of Jesus Christ. And whilst we’re alluding to the landscape of life in all its fullness, I’d like to (just as my grandma used to) put my two penneth in as to what I think it actually means.

Theological band-aids are fast becoming the bane of my life; I loathe them with a passion. What am I ranting about? Well, the kind of nonsense that for too long now I have heard from the archaic halls of Christendom, that if you come to Jesus everything in life will be a bed of roses. Nothing I believe could be further from the truth. Now I know that Jesus brings, and is ‘Good News’, but that to be blunt is only half the story. As John Bell says, ‘those who wish to know the bliss of shouting “Hallelujah” need to know the yearning of those who cry “How long?”’

Somewhere between heaven and hell lies our suffering world. When T.S. Elliot wrote about our inability to bear much reality, he could scarcely have imagined the truth his words would hold for subsequent generations. What do we do when the world hurts too much? How do we live when we become so numb we can’t feel anything anymore, when we feel dead, lost or trapped? Much of what passes for spirituality is from a perspective that is clean and comforting – seven rules for this, twelve steps for that – and in many respects our understanding of a full and successful spiritual life is governed by shadows making way for light, and ambiguity for clarity.

Yet most people would agree that life is difficult. Many people I meet are, in some way, broken on the wheels of living. Many parts of their life (particularly faith) are messy and uncontrolled, and what I want to suggest is that maybe this enables us to see and experience the spiritual – to meet with God where the finite confronts the infinite – with more authenticity. Just maybe God is as present in the darkness as in the light. Freud used to say that people have faith because of a desire for ‘wish-fulfilment’. Marx went as far to say that religious faith ‘is nothing more than narcotic’. What I would propose is that if God is really omnipresent, if God really is to be found everywhere – then surely God is very much present in the muck and mire of this world – and that, I believe, is very good news.

Augustine once said that, ‘everywhere a great joy is preceded by a great suffering’. He understood that by depriving some senses others were heightened, and that our spiritual experience is nourished best in the rough country of life. It is important to remember that isolation from pain may also dull the experience of pleasure. Faith in God offers no insurance against tragedy, and I lament that we don’t hear this enough from our communities of faith. My experience as I use a bar stool as a pulpit and a Guinness as a sacrament, is that most people are of the opinion that what the Church actually communicates is, ‘come to Jesus and all will be well’. Nothing, I believe, could be further from the truth, being a Christian complicates the matter even further.

Ultimately when Jesus is faced with personal suffering, he reacts in much the same way we do: with dread and fear (Luke 22: 39-46). In reality we are slow to embrace the broken of this world, or enter and walk the shattered avenues of those crippled with suffering and heartache – those places of extremes, of solitude, where we enter a mysterious compact with our neighbours. Our response to suffering depends largely on the outcome of our struggle in those frontiers.

I am conscious that our job is not to bring in the kingdom but bear witness to it. We need to rediscover the man of sorrows, where evil, pain and suffering are nourished by tears; that place where compassion becomes a signpost pointing on beyond itself. A deciding factor in my own decision to follow ‘The Carpenter’ was that he is the God who suffers with, and for me. And for those who are imprisoned, shipwrecked, or just broken on the wheels of living, just maybe we need to embrace that brokenness, and understand that some things just can’t be fixed this side of some much better place. Ok, rant over, back to the beatitudes.

Bonhoeffer states that the meek are those who do not speak up for their own rights. They continually give up their rights and themselves to follow the call of Christ first, and in consequence to the service of others. Likewise, those who ‘hunger and thirst after righteousness’ (though I believe righteousness is better understood as justice), also give up the expectation that they can ever turn this world into paradise by themselves, their hope is in the outworking of this particular teaching from the Mountain made manifest in the ordinary odd people of Christ as he inspires and dwells within.

The merciful have given up their own dignity and become devoted to others, helping the needy, the ill and the outcast. I remember hearing a very moving story a couple of years ago concerning Bono and his now late father Bob Hewson. Whilst on the European leg of the ‘Elevation Tour’ (just prior to 9/11) Bono’s father was close to passing on into the next life. Bono would travel back to Ireland most nights to visit his father – at times falling asleep at his bedside, next to him in the hospital.

When he passed away Bono commented that he’d prayed that his dad would die with dignity, but as he watched his father deteriorated he said that he realized that dignity was a ‘man made thing’ and that when we come into this world and leave it it’s all pretty messy – so he prayed instead that he would die with humility. A wise observation in my book, and one that that probably gave the Hewson family far more peace than any dignity could provide.

The pure in heart are no longer troubled by the call of this world, for they follow the call of the wild untamable spirit of God; they have resigned themselves to the call of Christ and His desires for their lives. The peacemakers can't bear the violence that is so often used to solve problems. This point would be of special significance for Bonhoeffer, who was writing on the eve of World War II. Those who live by the way of shalom maintain friendship where others would find a reason to break off a relationship. These individuals always see another option, a better way. Those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake are willing to suffer for the cause of Christ. Any and every just cause becomes their cause because it is part of the overall work of Christ. Suffering becomes the way to communion with God. To this list is added the final blessing given to those who are victimized for righteousness sake. These will (according to Bonhoeffer) receive a great reward in heaven and be likened to the prophets who also suffered.

Bonhoeffer's emphasis on our acceptance of suffering being a very real and allowed part of Christian spirituality is directly connected to the suffering of Christ. Theologian Jurgen Moltmann prophetically observed this as the year 2000 drew near, ‘it seemed that the “new” millennium was already old and ruinous.’ - recognising that the sense of life in the post-modern world is no longer shaped by the hubris of belief in progress, but rather in the sadness of shattered hopes. He concluded that, ‘Suffering can assail us with its ferocity, because the darkness from which it comes is so near.’

John O’Donohue describes suffering as the dark valley of broken belonging. Moreover he suggests that darkness is one of our closest companions because we were conceived and shaped in it. It could be said that because of this, something within us knows the darkness more deeply than it knows the light. Should we choose to ignore this, I fear we will only continue to feed the cancer of our malaise, and the church will become even more compartmentalised from society than it already is. As the psychologist Scott Peck suggests, ‘Compartmentalisation is easy. Integrity is painful. But without it there can be no wholeness. Integrity requires that we be fully open to the conflicting forces and ideas and stresses in life.’ Our job is surely about trying to bridge the two worlds we live in, between the ethereality of religion and the mess of everyday life. I believe that faith is more than a challenge. It is pain. For God’s reality is inextricably linked to God’s absence. This just might be, if we recollect the paschal mystery, the proof He exists at all. His absence is part illusory.

Thankfully though, just for a few days every August, God steps out of the shadows and allows a peculiar people a moment of tranfiguration...well, just maybe, and I am very grateful to Dave Andrews for taking me back to the Sermon on the Mount and kicking me out of my complacency

GB Highlights

2006-09-01T10:04:00.000+01:00

Having a beer with Jim Wallis and Dave Andrews in Pip's late night L5 circle, spending time with the children, introducing ex-street child Sikhumbuzo on main stage during the opening ceremony, being invited to eat tea with those provocative, deep and loving east belfasters, sampling organic beer, crying at the wonderful Martyn Joseph & Stewart Henderson's 'because we can', eating curry with the lovely John Bell or eating burritos with the sweet Steve Lawson and the good Dr are just some of the magical memories of GB '06...

But the pivotal moment arrived as the festival drew to a close. Unnerving without being intimidating he stands over 6ft 5 tall, his presence beguiling and strong, you kind of get the notion you are in the company of someone remarkable, someone who might just cause you to be different after your encounter...

Michael Franti walked on stage and blew us all away to a land of possibility with intoxicating 'songs of redemption'. In a mesmerising set he embodied the spirit of Greenbelt - even remarking that;
"I sing my songs not to change to people's minds but to open them and Greenbelt is a mind-opening event..."

"So many people here from different backgrounds all exploring faith and culture through the arts in harmony and unity – I’ve never been to another festival like it …"

In a recent interview he said, "Right now, people ask me, 'What can one person do to change what's going on with the world?' I don't know what one person can do except to connect with other people. In doing that, each of us play our roles," he says. "My role is as a storyteller and a songwriter. I'm somebody who is trying to keep the spirits of other people up, despite all the chaos and fear around us"

In the summer of 2004, Franti travelled with a group of friends to Iraq, the territories within the Palestinian Authority, and Israel. He took video cameras and a guitar with the intent of exploring the human cost of war. A compelling soundtrack, visual and musical montages, and Franti's intimate voiceovers make the film speak to the MTV, X, Y & Z generations, as well as the baby boomers. With its guerrilla style footage captured in active war zones, the documentary is unlike the many academic and politically driven pieces in the marketplace, instead offering the audience a sense of intimate travel and the opportunity to hear the voices of everyday people living, creating and surviving under the harsh conditions of war and occupation.

One thing I did notice as he played and then talked with anyone who wished to engage him, was that he had nothing on his feet. Evidently since 2000 he has been walking through life barefoot except, occasionally, for going on an airplane or into a restaurant when he wears flip-flops. Franti feels there is a division in the world between the consumer nations who buy shoes and the nations where people make shoes but can't afford them. So he decided to go for three days without shoes, and liked it ever since.

So as another thin place began to give up her fight, I was left with thought; Who could see heaven and not want to stay?

These fantastic pics were taken by the very talented Andy Stonehouse, © F8-infinity 2006

Greenbelt Secret

2006-08-31T11:15:00.000+01:00

Coupland may have written it....but i believe it speaks for all those who gather in the midst of the sacred space called Greenbelt:

"Now - here is my secret:
I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God - that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love."

(Douglas Coupland, Life After God)

The Belt we call Green

2006-08-30T11:50:00.000+01:00

There must be few places on earth that are as precious and magical
Few places where the veil between heaven and earth so thin
Few places where stones are not thrown
and the planks in our own eyes are sought
rather than looking for the specks in others

Few places where the fragrance of heaven is so recognized
Few places where grace dances so freely
Few places where vulnerability is shared
and humility expressed,
a place where all the prodigals can come home

A place of being held
being accepted no matter what
being loved
cherished
where all are appreciated
respected
esteemed
treasured
prized
and held dear

An exquisite home for the refugees, the broken and the marginalised
A magical
special
touching
moving
enchanting asylum for those broken on the wheels of living...

...a sacrament
a sacred space
a place of light
of hope...
a home...
it's a place we call greenbelt

...more to follow...

GB '06

2006-08-24T09:59:00.000+01:00

A wonderful prayer written by a wonderful man for wonderful humans at the most wonderful of festivals...

Help us remember that the idiot who cut us up in traffic
is a single Mother who has worked nine hours that day
and is rushing to Greenbelt to cook a meal and settle the kids down so they can have a good first day at the festival
and spend a few precious moments with her friends
who have saved hard to get to Greenbelt.

Help us to remember that the pierced, tattooed, disinterested young man
who can't handle his change correctly is a worried YMCA Hostel resident who is behind in his rent and cannot afford the cheapest hotdog on site.
At the same time balancing his apprehension over his fear
of not getting on well with the group he came with.

Remind us Lord, that the scary looking young woman
rolling her eyes and cannot stop moving her body,
is a recovering slave to addictions
that we can only imagine in our worst nightmares.

Remind us that the scars of the self harming woman,
scarred for life,
is just like me with my scars
that and hinder and equip at the same time.
And remember that we, maybe,
can just hide ours better.

Help us to remember that the old couple
walking annoyingly slow through the festival site
and blocking our process
are savouring this moment,
knowing that, based on the biopsy report she got back last week,
this will be the last year that they will be at Greenbelt together.

Creator God, remind us each day that, of all the gifts you give us,
the greatest gift is love.
That it is not enough to share that love with those we hold dear.
But those for who,
on first impressions,
make us shudder, or sigh or grunt with irritability.

Open our soul and press your finger tip right on that part,
the part to raise your love to the surface.
So it touches the practical.
The proactive.
The love department

© Pip Wilson