During a month’s stay in Israel and Palestine ten years ago I kept a journal. In it I recorded this story by Daniel Rossing, who had worked in the Israeli government Department of Religious Affairs:
“A Romanian Orthodox church in Mea Shearim was being restored. A wealthy couple gave money for two crosses to be replaced, one on the dome and one on the tower. The Orthodox Jewish institution across the street was outraged, and demanded their removal, as they looked down on them in direct line of sight towards Temple Mount. I told them repeatedly that the Romanians refused to take down the crosses. Still they kept up their demands, until I offered them a compromise solution – that the crosses be rotated through ninety degrees. The Jews agreed to this and the dispute was settled. The Romanians have their crosses, but to the Jews they appear as flag poles.
Everywhere consists of a number of somewheres. Perhaps the Middle East needs more betweens and less somewheres, more compromises and less positions, more traveling and less arriving, more attempts to live with the differences and less attempts to remove those differences.”
I believe that’s increasingly true for all of us.
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Monday, 20 October 2008
Something Understood
My Sunday radio listening usually consists of the Sunday programme on Radio 4, which is on while I’m getting ready for church services; and at the end of the day, if I’m still awake, I listen to Something Understood.
The Sunday Programme is often a religious version of the weekday Today programme. Religious spokespersons are usually pitted against one another, peddling differing interpretations of this or that doctrinal or moral point, across the faith divide or within the same faith. I find it a depressing example of all that I dislike about religion and, increasingly, refuse to accept or engage with.
Something Understood can be really good, or can be a bit dire. Sometimes it sounds like the presenter has always wanted to string together this poem, that song, and an interview with this other person, and has compiled some form of thread to hold the whole thing together. But, just occasionally, I want to “Yes! Thank you!” for the evening’s offering. Last Sunday was just such, and I did in fact say thank you out loud to no-one in particular. The lovely Mark Tully presented a simple, understated act of praise for liberal values of tolerance, acceptance and understanding, for finding what we hold in common, for being able to live with difference. The interview with the Reformed Jewish rabbi, only two years into her ministry, was a joy. Her problems came not with liberals of other faiths or none, she said, but with her own congregation. The arguments over the new Reform Jewish Prayer Book sound exactly like those we Anglicans have been having since our Alternative Services Series 2 appeared in 1967, the year I was confirmed. Modern versus traditional language; inclusive versus exclusive gender specific; and so on. The resulting book sounds great, and I intend to get myself a copy.
The Sunday Programme is often a religious version of the weekday Today programme. Religious spokespersons are usually pitted against one another, peddling differing interpretations of this or that doctrinal or moral point, across the faith divide or within the same faith. I find it a depressing example of all that I dislike about religion and, increasingly, refuse to accept or engage with.
Something Understood can be really good, or can be a bit dire. Sometimes it sounds like the presenter has always wanted to string together this poem, that song, and an interview with this other person, and has compiled some form of thread to hold the whole thing together. But, just occasionally, I want to “Yes! Thank you!” for the evening’s offering. Last Sunday was just such, and I did in fact say thank you out loud to no-one in particular. The lovely Mark Tully presented a simple, understated act of praise for liberal values of tolerance, acceptance and understanding, for finding what we hold in common, for being able to live with difference. The interview with the Reformed Jewish rabbi, only two years into her ministry, was a joy. Her problems came not with liberals of other faiths or none, she said, but with her own congregation. The arguments over the new Reform Jewish Prayer Book sound exactly like those we Anglicans have been having since our Alternative Services Series 2 appeared in 1967, the year I was confirmed. Modern versus traditional language; inclusive versus exclusive gender specific; and so on. The resulting book sounds great, and I intend to get myself a copy.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
I'm off (duty)
I’m finding I need a break from duties every week now, whereas before I could take a couple of days every other week. This is all a bit odd, as I haven’t done it for years. Also, people’s reactions are rather strange. On those sort of committees where you must record your absence and the reason why you’re not there, I noticed that someone had said I was on a “family holiday”. Would people in ordinary jobs describe their average weekend as “family holiday”? I don’t think so. Then on another set of minutes someone had said that I had “felt the need to” have a day off. Do people in other professions only have time off when they “feel the need to”? I’m sure they don’t. I should not work more than two sessions per day, though I do. I should not work up to 60 hours, 6 days a week, though I frequently do. I should not have to justify being off duty for two evenings and one whole day, for no apparent reason whatsoever, though it seems to be expected. But I won’t.
Kinesthetics
Many artists, writers and poets down the centuries have shared the insight that children come into the world possessing great wisdom and insight, and fully equipped with the necessary tools for spiritual growth and development, only to find that adults spend inordinate amounts of time making sure that the tools of observation, reflection and wonder are not used and so grow rusty and stiff.
This morning was a bright autumn day, cold but clear and bright. We took the whole of one of our little primary schools (about thirty children plus the staff and assistants), onto the playground for Sacred Posture. We used a new pattern, devised by me, based on the four elements; Earth, Air, Fire and Water. If you chose or wish or need to know, its origins in the canticle Benedicite and St Francis “Song of Brother Sun” are very obvious. We even use some of the words of WH Draper’s hymn “All creatures of our God and King”. But the movements come from the Chinese tradition of Tai Chi Chuan. And the four elements owe a lot to the Medicine Wheel prayers of Native American tradition.
But the kids don’t want or need to know that. They love being able to stand still, between the earth and the sky and try to feel the world turning. They can push against the water in the swimming movements; they can be windmills turning against the resistance of the air; they can encompass the globe of the planet in their huge, slow circles; they can feel the heat and smell the smoke of the imaginary fires they make with their wriggling fingers.
-That was kinesthetics, said their teacher, when we got into the staffroom later.
- Really? I said, I didn’t know I could do that!
- You can, she said.
- What is it? I said.
- Look it up, She said.
- We can tick lots of the county council’s boxes doing that, she said.
- Yes, I said, If we were that sort of school, I said.
- Which we’re not, she said.
Several people from church came by as we stood, silent, motionless between earth and sky, still, as one, or whirled, slowly, our windmill arms.
- What was that? One asked later.
I explained as best I could.
- Shame we can’t get them into church, she said, You should be teaching them their Bibles. They don’t know anything these days.
This morning was a bright autumn day, cold but clear and bright. We took the whole of one of our little primary schools (about thirty children plus the staff and assistants), onto the playground for Sacred Posture. We used a new pattern, devised by me, based on the four elements; Earth, Air, Fire and Water. If you chose or wish or need to know, its origins in the canticle Benedicite and St Francis “Song of Brother Sun” are very obvious. We even use some of the words of WH Draper’s hymn “All creatures of our God and King”. But the movements come from the Chinese tradition of Tai Chi Chuan. And the four elements owe a lot to the Medicine Wheel prayers of Native American tradition.
But the kids don’t want or need to know that. They love being able to stand still, between the earth and the sky and try to feel the world turning. They can push against the water in the swimming movements; they can be windmills turning against the resistance of the air; they can encompass the globe of the planet in their huge, slow circles; they can feel the heat and smell the smoke of the imaginary fires they make with their wriggling fingers.
-That was kinesthetics, said their teacher, when we got into the staffroom later.
- Really? I said, I didn’t know I could do that!
- You can, she said.
- What is it? I said.
- Look it up, She said.
- We can tick lots of the county council’s boxes doing that, she said.
- Yes, I said, If we were that sort of school, I said.
- Which we’re not, she said.
Several people from church came by as we stood, silent, motionless between earth and sky, still, as one, or whirled, slowly, our windmill arms.
- What was that? One asked later.
I explained as best I could.
- Shame we can’t get them into church, she said, You should be teaching them their Bibles. They don’t know anything these days.
Monday, 6 October 2008
Encouraging Noises
It’s Harvest time. A super all-age act of worship at the main church, with lots of people; kids in the band, including the newly confirmed; real bread and real wine for the eucharist for a change (Anglicans don’t usually use real bread; Methodists shy away from real wine); super shared lunch afterwards. “You don’t need me to tell you that was a lovely service,” said one of our ministry team afterwards. “Actually, I do,” I replied.
This was the first Sunday for four weeks that someone hasn’t had a go at me about something, usually the recently introduced nave altar that the older ones hate, or else some other thing. I long ago gave up imagining I could please anyone all the time, but maybe I can’t please a lot of them any of the time. This causes me some stress, mainly because I never know when I’m going to get the comeback; I never know which of the people I greet kindly as they leave church, or say hello to in the street, or telephone on some matter or other, is going to have a go at me about something or other, cutting me dead, or wagging a finger in my face and telling me what for. I think of witty reposts that I could never actually use, such as “It’s your turn to be upset this week; next week it’ll be someone else’s turn”. Mainly I smile thinly and sigh inwardly.
This was the first Sunday for four weeks that someone hasn’t had a go at me about something, usually the recently introduced nave altar that the older ones hate, or else some other thing. I long ago gave up imagining I could please anyone all the time, but maybe I can’t please a lot of them any of the time. This causes me some stress, mainly because I never know when I’m going to get the comeback; I never know which of the people I greet kindly as they leave church, or say hello to in the street, or telephone on some matter or other, is going to have a go at me about something or other, cutting me dead, or wagging a finger in my face and telling me what for. I think of witty reposts that I could never actually use, such as “It’s your turn to be upset this week; next week it’ll be someone else’s turn”. Mainly I smile thinly and sigh inwardly.
Friday, 3 October 2008
Percy, Edna, Nora, and now - Sidney!
After thirty five years, this is the first time I've been asked to baptise a baby called Sidney (who is a boy). I told you (on 15 August)not to write off the old names. There could be a Walter along soon. Maybe a Mabel.
The Meaning of Life
599 days to my sixtieth birthday. Two hundred and sixty albums digitalised. Twelve websites and forums on slide scanners saved to favourites. Three weeks of not writing a syllable. Watched Monty Python's Meaning of Life with the Dude. We watched the opening sketch where the elderly clerks become pirates and attack the financial centre while Wall Street plunged 778 points in a day. The film is not as good as Life of Brian, in my opinion, and doesn't make much sense, but the songs are good.
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,
And things seem hard or tough,
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,
And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And revolving at nine thousand miles an hour.
It's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
The sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In the outer spiral arm, at fourteen thousand miles an hour,
Of a galaxy we call the Milky Way.
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred million stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy itself is one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.
Our universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whiz;
As fast as it can go, that's the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!
A bleak ending, and I'm not that bleak. But the rest of it has been going round in my head since I was a small boy.
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,
And things seem hard or tough,
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,
And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And revolving at nine thousand miles an hour.
It's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
The sun that is the source of all our power.
Now the sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day,
In the outer spiral arm, at fourteen thousand miles an hour,
Of a galaxy we call the Milky Way.
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred million stars;
It's a hundred thousand light-years side to side;
It bulges in the middle sixteen thousand light-years thick,
But out by us it's just three thousand light-years wide.
We're thirty thousand light-years from Galactic Central Point,
We go 'round every two hundred million years;
And our galaxy itself is one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.
Our universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whiz;
As fast as it can go, that's the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth;
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth!
A bleak ending, and I'm not that bleak. But the rest of it has been going round in my head since I was a small boy.
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