I'd like to write about all the insights I've gained from three weeks away, and all the books I've read, but, the fact is, I've been a bit knackered, and the reading and writing blocks have continued, and tonight is the first time I've touched a keyboard with serious intent. I did start a book this afternoon, but i also switched the radio on to Test Match Special, and the instant I did so, Broad started to cut a swathe through the Aussie batting, so, of course, I couldn't then turn it off, could I?
Now where was I?, Oh yes, while I've been away.
While I’ve been away I’ve been exploring a bit more of the possible alternative spiritual homes, or at least spiritual bus shelters, that might find space for me come next year. Not easy.
I’ve always had a lot of time for the Quakers, even though some of their pacifist activists are amongst the most angry people I’ve ever met. We used to go off on peace actions at US bases, pinning little white doves on fences, and I got the impression that if some of the little old ladies could get their hands on a soldier they might do serious harm. There is a Meeting House near here, goes back several centuries and run in family hands throughout its history. We had a good talk over coffee. I said how impressed I was that they managed to get a mention in a Guardian editorial in praise of their stand on same sex partnerships. It was good, I said, that a religious group was prepared to take a courageous stand, without, it would appear, worrying about the consequences on membership and recruitment, or adverse press and media criticism. It was a shame, they said, that so many people were willing to come ot meetings as attenders, but that full membership was dwindling and getting older. Don’t look at me, I said; I’m not up for joining things, or propping up any organization; I’ll come clean and say I’m only in it for the peace and quiet of the worship. I don’t need any more meetings.
I went to Orthodox vespers. Wonderful. Christianity with its roots showing. The music seems to come straight from some ancient desert place. Unfortunately, vespers always ends with a little Orthodox sermonette, in which the priest reminds you of various sins and heresies you have been unwittingly committing for most of your life. And don’t expect compromise, or the search for common ground; unity of Christians will be achieved only when everyone becomes Orthodox once again. Like that’s going to happen any time soon.
I went to a Roman Catholic mass that same week, and an Anglican eucharist. That’s the three major schisms covered in one week. Oh well. After all, as someone didn't say, the Church of England is the worst possible denomination, except for all the others.
My tai chi group starts again next week.
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theology. Show all posts
Friday, 21 August 2009
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
The Golden Rule
I must say that I find Karen Armstrong’s notion of spirituality devoid of doctrinal or dogmatic expression is very attractive. The idea of finding common ground between faiths is also attractive. And there have been attempts in the past to find that common ground, but most of them have come to nothing.
One of the greatest stories, retold by Karen Armstrong, concerns the great first century CE Rabbi Hillel:
“A group of pagans approached Rabbi Hillel and told him that they would convert to his faith if he could recite the whole of Jewish teaching while standing on one leg. So Hillel obligingly stood on one leg like a stork and said, ‘Do not do unto others what you would not have done unto you. That is the Torah. The rest is commentary. Go and learn it.’”
Jesus of course said “Do unto others as you have done unto you” but the meaning is the same. The Qu'ran imposes no creed and does not bother with doctrine, in fact, is dismissive of theolgoical speculation. Eastern faiths, especially Buddhism, spend more time on how a person lives, rather than what a person believes. Here, in conversations here with members of our local Wiccan community, I have been reminded more than once of their own version of the Golden Rule; “Save that thou harm none, do what thou wilt”.
As I approach the end of reading “The Spiral Staircase”, the implications of following this Rule, and the implications for people of faith in finding the common ground of this Rule, are both exciting and challenging.
One of the greatest stories, retold by Karen Armstrong, concerns the great first century CE Rabbi Hillel:
“A group of pagans approached Rabbi Hillel and told him that they would convert to his faith if he could recite the whole of Jewish teaching while standing on one leg. So Hillel obligingly stood on one leg like a stork and said, ‘Do not do unto others what you would not have done unto you. That is the Torah. The rest is commentary. Go and learn it.’”
Jesus of course said “Do unto others as you have done unto you” but the meaning is the same. The Qu'ran imposes no creed and does not bother with doctrine, in fact, is dismissive of theolgoical speculation. Eastern faiths, especially Buddhism, spend more time on how a person lives, rather than what a person believes. Here, in conversations here with members of our local Wiccan community, I have been reminded more than once of their own version of the Golden Rule; “Save that thou harm none, do what thou wilt”.
As I approach the end of reading “The Spiral Staircase”, the implications of following this Rule, and the implications for people of faith in finding the common ground of this Rule, are both exciting and challenging.
Saturday, 1 November 2008
More of that ...
Been revisiting my journal of 1998 again, in the course of preparing a couple of presentations on journal writing, and, if I may say so, am still pleased with it as a piece of work. I collected a lot of pieces, snippets, quotations, in the course of compiling it. Here are two more which I think still work today. First a Jewish academic on the tragedy of relations between the Children of Abraham/Ibrahim, the so-called People of the Book:
“The image I have is of three traumatized individuals walking through darkness and holding flickering candles to illumine their way; candles lit by their forebears to get them through the dark nights of the soul … three wandering pilgrims yearning to get back home, afraid that out of the darkness some old or new enemy will attack them, afraid of perpetual victimization, afraid to trust each other, afraid to trust others who might help them overcome their fear and dread. And then, suddenly, the three of them converge, and their candles illumine each others faces, and each experiences the shock of mutual recognition; in the human faces is the reflection of something mysteriously Divine, so that all three can echo the exclamation of the wounded Jacob, renamed Israel: “I see the face of God in your face”.
(Yehetzkel Landau)
And this:
“Late, and it’s starting to rain. It’s time to go home.
We’ve wandered long enough in empty buildings.
I know it’s tempting to stay and meet these new people.
I know it’s even more\sensible
To spend the night here with them,
But I want to go home.
We’ve seen enough beautiful places with signs on them
Saying “This is God’s House”.
That’ seeing grain like ants do,
Without the work of harvesting.
Let’s leave the grazing to the cows, and go
Where we will know what everyone really intends,
Where we can walk around with no clothes on.”
(Jal aladin Rumi, 1207-1273)
“The image I have is of three traumatized individuals walking through darkness and holding flickering candles to illumine their way; candles lit by their forebears to get them through the dark nights of the soul … three wandering pilgrims yearning to get back home, afraid that out of the darkness some old or new enemy will attack them, afraid of perpetual victimization, afraid to trust each other, afraid to trust others who might help them overcome their fear and dread. And then, suddenly, the three of them converge, and their candles illumine each others faces, and each experiences the shock of mutual recognition; in the human faces is the reflection of something mysteriously Divine, so that all three can echo the exclamation of the wounded Jacob, renamed Israel: “I see the face of God in your face”.
(Yehetzkel Landau)
And this:
“Late, and it’s starting to rain. It’s time to go home.
We’ve wandered long enough in empty buildings.
I know it’s tempting to stay and meet these new people.
I know it’s even more\sensible
To spend the night here with them,
But I want to go home.
We’ve seen enough beautiful places with signs on them
Saying “This is God’s House”.
That’ seeing grain like ants do,
Without the work of harvesting.
Let’s leave the grazing to the cows, and go
Where we will know what everyone really intends,
Where we can walk around with no clothes on.”
(Jal aladin Rumi, 1207-1273)
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
A Place between the Somewheres
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.
“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.
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.
Friday, 3 October 2008
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.
Thursday, 11 September 2008
It's not the end of the World
If like me you dropped physics at 14 and don't have a clue what all this LHC stuff is all about, try this. Many thanks to second son for the link. really good stuff on the blog links to the right - couldn't have written better myself, and so haven't tried.
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
I take it all back
Ooh. England 4 Croatia 1. I take it all back. And there’s a very nice calm Welshman there to keep an eye on things too. Maybe we can do physics after all.
I saw the stars last night
I saw the stars last night. Briefly. This was the first time I’ve seen the stars for some time. That’s partly because I had given up looking up, only to see endless cloud. And because if you look up when it’s raining, the rain runs into your eyes. But yesterday it stopped raining. You could walk up the street at your own pace. Look in shop windows. Speak to people in the street. And then last night; stars.
8.25am. The radio is on. The weather. Rain in Scotland and Northern Ireland; dry elsewhere. Grey rain is once again sheeting across the garden, even though I am not in Scotland or Northern Ireland. The radio has switched to Geneva, where the Big Bang machine is about to be switched on. Many have predicted the end of the world as a result of this very biggest of scientific experiments, trying to recreate conditions at the beginning of creation. What’s more worrying is that there are British scientists involved, drawn from a nation that cannot recreate the conditions necessary to have a winning national football team. Should we be worried? I am suddenly reminded of the figure of Arthur Dent, in his dressing gown, enjoying a nice cup of tea, and finding the Vogon ship ready to destroy Earth.
8.30am. Machine is on. Tea is poured. Everyone waits. Nothing happens.
8.40am. Champagne is poured in Geneva. Cheering and applause. Outside is still there. I’m still here so I’ll have a second cup of tea.
8.25am. The radio is on. The weather. Rain in Scotland and Northern Ireland; dry elsewhere. Grey rain is once again sheeting across the garden, even though I am not in Scotland or Northern Ireland. The radio has switched to Geneva, where the Big Bang machine is about to be switched on. Many have predicted the end of the world as a result of this very biggest of scientific experiments, trying to recreate conditions at the beginning of creation. What’s more worrying is that there are British scientists involved, drawn from a nation that cannot recreate the conditions necessary to have a winning national football team. Should we be worried? I am suddenly reminded of the figure of Arthur Dent, in his dressing gown, enjoying a nice cup of tea, and finding the Vogon ship ready to destroy Earth.
8.30am. Machine is on. Tea is poured. Everyone waits. Nothing happens.
8.40am. Champagne is poured in Geneva. Cheering and applause. Outside is still there. I’m still here so I’ll have a second cup of tea.
Sunday, 7 September 2008
Don't sweat the small stuff
A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full? They agreed that it was.
So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous “yes.”
The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.
“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things–your family, your health, your children, your friends, your favorite passions–things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. “The pebbles are the other things that matter not quite so much, like your job, your house, your car.
“The sand is everything else–the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.
“The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. There will always be time to clean the house, and fix the gutter. Take care of the “golf balls” first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented. The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of beers.”
So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous “yes.”
The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.
“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things–your family, your health, your children, your friends, your favorite passions–things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. “The pebbles are the other things that matter not quite so much, like your job, your house, your car.
“The sand is everything else–the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.
“The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. There will always be time to clean the house, and fix the gutter. Take care of the “golf balls” first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented. The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of beers.”
Monday, 7 July 2008
Why I don't read much theology
“'Let's at least agree on one thing, God is a hypothesis.' That's what one of my professors used to say. 'Your hypothesis may be different from mine, but if you insist it is superior because you have a better line to God than me, it leads to nothing but bitterness, rancour and even war. The best course is mutual toleration - live and let live.' But then, Jonathan is an Anglican.”
(Will Hutton: The Observer 6 July 2008)
I’ve just read two books that would appear on the face of it to be coming from opposite directions, but actually have far more in common than either author would wish to have pointed out. Stephen Cottrell is the Anglican Bishop of Reading, one of the new breed of “Call me Steve” types, I guess (why are they always called Steve?). His book is “Do nothing to Change your Life”. The cover, the marketing, and the chapter headings seek to catch the zeitgeist of the slow movement, and books that I have mentioned on the blog before, such as Carl Honore and Tom Hodgkinson. “A joyous affirmation of life for anyone feeling exhausted” it says in the blurb on the front, and “Discovering what happens when you stop”. It opens with some unlikely premises that you are supposed to swallow, like a bishop who can decide to lay in bed until eleven in the morning, and perhaps encourage his clergy to do the same occasionally. “We need to stop imagining everything is so urgent. We need to nurture our inner slob”, it says in the blurb on the back. Do you believe that? I thought not.
“The Form of Things”, by AC Grayling, promises “Essays on Life Ideas and Liberty in the 21st century”. Indeed the first, third and fourth sections are exactly that; witty and perceptive, thought-provoking, gentle, generous. He writes on fashion, beauty, colour, dance. Towards the end he writes well on civil liberties, terrorism and human rights. So far, so good. But in the middle section called “Polemics”, rather sadly, we get a gloves-off attack on religion, in the manner of Dawkins and his disciples. Why? Why could Grayling not be generous here too, and at least accept that here we have two hypotheses on which we are not going to agree, alongside a great deal about which humanists, atheists, scientists and believers will want to agree wholeheartedly?
And it is here that we find the common ground between the two books, for Cottrell’s work is in fact, at heart, an evangelical tract, dressed up in modern clothes, just as Grayling is, at least in part, writing an atheist tract. The core of the book, in chapter five, is “the strange story of Jesus of Nazareth, and the incredible claims Christians make about him”. This is what Cottrell set out to deliver, and the rest of the book, before and after this story, is gift wrapping to help to get it off the shelves.
What a pity. Both books could have been so much better. I found neither book honest about its intentions, and therefore both books, while containing many good things, ultimately disappointing.
(Will Hutton: The Observer 6 July 2008)
I’ve just read two books that would appear on the face of it to be coming from opposite directions, but actually have far more in common than either author would wish to have pointed out. Stephen Cottrell is the Anglican Bishop of Reading, one of the new breed of “Call me Steve” types, I guess (why are they always called Steve?). His book is “Do nothing to Change your Life”. The cover, the marketing, and the chapter headings seek to catch the zeitgeist of the slow movement, and books that I have mentioned on the blog before, such as Carl Honore and Tom Hodgkinson. “A joyous affirmation of life for anyone feeling exhausted” it says in the blurb on the front, and “Discovering what happens when you stop”. It opens with some unlikely premises that you are supposed to swallow, like a bishop who can decide to lay in bed until eleven in the morning, and perhaps encourage his clergy to do the same occasionally. “We need to stop imagining everything is so urgent. We need to nurture our inner slob”, it says in the blurb on the back. Do you believe that? I thought not.
“The Form of Things”, by AC Grayling, promises “Essays on Life Ideas and Liberty in the 21st century”. Indeed the first, third and fourth sections are exactly that; witty and perceptive, thought-provoking, gentle, generous. He writes on fashion, beauty, colour, dance. Towards the end he writes well on civil liberties, terrorism and human rights. So far, so good. But in the middle section called “Polemics”, rather sadly, we get a gloves-off attack on religion, in the manner of Dawkins and his disciples. Why? Why could Grayling not be generous here too, and at least accept that here we have two hypotheses on which we are not going to agree, alongside a great deal about which humanists, atheists, scientists and believers will want to agree wholeheartedly?
And it is here that we find the common ground between the two books, for Cottrell’s work is in fact, at heart, an evangelical tract, dressed up in modern clothes, just as Grayling is, at least in part, writing an atheist tract. The core of the book, in chapter five, is “the strange story of Jesus of Nazareth, and the incredible claims Christians make about him”. This is what Cottrell set out to deliver, and the rest of the book, before and after this story, is gift wrapping to help to get it off the shelves.
What a pity. Both books could have been so much better. I found neither book honest about its intentions, and therefore both books, while containing many good things, ultimately disappointing.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
The Cure of Souls
Listened to the Australian novelist Peter Carey on BBC Radio 4 Desert Island Discs. No use for religion, he says, And I don’t need the Bible. He might have no need of religion but he hasn’t lost touch with spirituality. One of his records is the wonderful piece by Gavin Bryars, which I’ve heard before, that uses a recording of an unnamed homeless man singing:
Jesu’s blood never failed me yet, never failed me yet.
Jesu’s blood never failed me yet,
This one thing I know,
For he loves me so.
I used to do graveside funerals for homeless men (they were usually men) when I was chaplain to a day centre and shelter. We would meet at the cemetery at 8.30am, as these funerals were done before the main programme began. Years ago they were known as “paupers funerals”, and the coffin was basically a cardboard box, paid for by the council. I buried army officers, doctors and lawyers in this way. I would usually read “foxes have holes, and the birds their nests, but the Son of Man had nowhere to lay his head”. When I took these funerals the men from the centre would all shuffle up silently and stand around in the rain. While I was reading the service, cans of Carlsberg Special Brew would be drawn from pockets, and the hiss, hiss of these being opened signaled the start of breakfast.
Another piece of wisdom from my recent supervision group meeting was a discussion on the real role of the priest in society today. Essentially, we concluded, the need has not changed, and we should not change. The old phrase, particularly in the Church of England, was the “cure of souls”. This is not “cure” in the sense of making people better, but simply the care and love for all the people in the place where we have been put; not just the ones we like, or the ones who go to church, or the ones who might go to church if we work on them. We are there to get alongside the bores, the rich, the adulterers, the pompous, the drunks, the comfortable, the agnostics and atheists, the mad, the bad and the sad. The danger of a Church where priests become managers (I speak as one with a management degree) is the loss of this loving, on the street, in the home, round the shops. I am at my best out and about amongst the people; as I shed more of the peripheral responsibilities for maintaining the institution, I can spend more of my time on the core purpose for which I was ordained. I can lean on a gate or stop by the schoolyard or pop round the homes and be with the people. Thank the Lord for that.
Jesu’s blood never failed me yet, never failed me yet.
Jesu’s blood never failed me yet,
This one thing I know,
For he loves me so.
I used to do graveside funerals for homeless men (they were usually men) when I was chaplain to a day centre and shelter. We would meet at the cemetery at 8.30am, as these funerals were done before the main programme began. Years ago they were known as “paupers funerals”, and the coffin was basically a cardboard box, paid for by the council. I buried army officers, doctors and lawyers in this way. I would usually read “foxes have holes, and the birds their nests, but the Son of Man had nowhere to lay his head”. When I took these funerals the men from the centre would all shuffle up silently and stand around in the rain. While I was reading the service, cans of Carlsberg Special Brew would be drawn from pockets, and the hiss, hiss of these being opened signaled the start of breakfast.
Another piece of wisdom from my recent supervision group meeting was a discussion on the real role of the priest in society today. Essentially, we concluded, the need has not changed, and we should not change. The old phrase, particularly in the Church of England, was the “cure of souls”. This is not “cure” in the sense of making people better, but simply the care and love for all the people in the place where we have been put; not just the ones we like, or the ones who go to church, or the ones who might go to church if we work on them. We are there to get alongside the bores, the rich, the adulterers, the pompous, the drunks, the comfortable, the agnostics and atheists, the mad, the bad and the sad. The danger of a Church where priests become managers (I speak as one with a management degree) is the loss of this loving, on the street, in the home, round the shops. I am at my best out and about amongst the people; as I shed more of the peripheral responsibilities for maintaining the institution, I can spend more of my time on the core purpose for which I was ordained. I can lean on a gate or stop by the schoolyard or pop round the homes and be with the people. Thank the Lord for that.
Running Away or Running Towards?
When I was considering ordination in the late sixties, one of my hesitations was the fact that I didn’t consider the Church to be an admirable institution in all respects; in fact, in a number of ways I felt it could be the Church it was originally meant to be, if it got its finger out and sorted out its attitudes, principles, policies and practices. Well, they said, All the more reason to get in there and try to sort it out! And that’s pretty much what I have been trying to do every since, and maybe in a few corners from time to time, I might have had some small successes.
The point is still made to me. Don’t knock it, work to change it. Alongside this, someone comes along from time to time and chides me for complaining, or criticizing. That’s disloyal, they say. Well, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. When I got ordained I didn’t take any vows that prevent me from speaking the truth as I see it. An organization that can’t hear the constructive criticisms of its members is not a strong organization, nor an institution that one can be proud of.
As I prepare to leave, a number of thoughts strike me. First, as I have said before, I’m not sure that a full-time ministry of more years than Our Lord lived on earth is any kind of a good thing. I feel that someone should have taken me to one side and told me this, rather than allowing me to find out for myself, and encouraged me to find some other means of making a living. Also, in fact, had I left ministry at, say, twenty five years, I would have considered the whole thing to be been very successful (whatever we might mean by such a term). As it is, I’m not sure that I could say that the past ten years has been either successful or, really, worth doing in whatever way one can assess such a thing. And also, one person actually suggested that what I contemplate is really “running away” from the issues that are facing and changing the Church. Well am I? Running away? Or running towards?
There is no doubt that the present state I find myself in includes many aspects similar to that in which I spent time considering my vocation originally. Of course, I am a very different person. The circumstances in which this internal dialogue is taking place would have been beyond imagining for the nineteen year old me. There is, however, a very real sense of expectation now, as I contemplate doing and being someone very different. And that is exactly as it was forty years ago.
At our spiritual direction supervision group one of our group, who has already gone through a process that is very similar to my own, described what had happened in Myers Briggs terms; “my shadow capital is exhausted”. This made perfect sense to me. My shadow capital, my life as an introvert with a public role, is almost spent. I have functioned in an extraverted public ministry for a long time, and now it feels that it is time to stop. Stopping is exactly what J did, and now she lives as she chooses, and prefers, and does not feel at all guilty about turning down anything that will involve public speaking, leadership, or large groups (our supervision group is small and we know each other well). She saw what was happening to her not as running away, but as running towards a new future; a future in which she could be herself. Her evident delight in what has happened, and how it has turned out, is encouraging.
As feedback from the diocesan conference continues, most people, it seems, had a good time; some had a great time, especially those, like some from our deanery, who were new to ministry or new to the Church. Good. I’m pleased for them. I still know that I made the right decision for myself; in fact, I am even more confirmed in that decision. I gather that my absence was the cause of comment, and some concern, which is kind of people, I suppose, except that I can imagine what was said, because I’ve heard it said of others in the whispered late-night bar-closed conference conversation - poor old so-and-so, can’t hack it any longer you know; poor whats-is-name, lost his faith, I hear. It is not possible, it seems, that someone might just have decided this sort of event was not for them, or be tired out, or feel that their energies were better spent elsewhere. It has to be a breakdown, a crisis of faith or conscience. Well no, it’s none of those things, just my shadow capital running low. The warning light is flashing on the dashboard.
The point is still made to me. Don’t knock it, work to change it. Alongside this, someone comes along from time to time and chides me for complaining, or criticizing. That’s disloyal, they say. Well, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. When I got ordained I didn’t take any vows that prevent me from speaking the truth as I see it. An organization that can’t hear the constructive criticisms of its members is not a strong organization, nor an institution that one can be proud of.
As I prepare to leave, a number of thoughts strike me. First, as I have said before, I’m not sure that a full-time ministry of more years than Our Lord lived on earth is any kind of a good thing. I feel that someone should have taken me to one side and told me this, rather than allowing me to find out for myself, and encouraged me to find some other means of making a living. Also, in fact, had I left ministry at, say, twenty five years, I would have considered the whole thing to be been very successful (whatever we might mean by such a term). As it is, I’m not sure that I could say that the past ten years has been either successful or, really, worth doing in whatever way one can assess such a thing. And also, one person actually suggested that what I contemplate is really “running away” from the issues that are facing and changing the Church. Well am I? Running away? Or running towards?
There is no doubt that the present state I find myself in includes many aspects similar to that in which I spent time considering my vocation originally. Of course, I am a very different person. The circumstances in which this internal dialogue is taking place would have been beyond imagining for the nineteen year old me. There is, however, a very real sense of expectation now, as I contemplate doing and being someone very different. And that is exactly as it was forty years ago.
At our spiritual direction supervision group one of our group, who has already gone through a process that is very similar to my own, described what had happened in Myers Briggs terms; “my shadow capital is exhausted”. This made perfect sense to me. My shadow capital, my life as an introvert with a public role, is almost spent. I have functioned in an extraverted public ministry for a long time, and now it feels that it is time to stop. Stopping is exactly what J did, and now she lives as she chooses, and prefers, and does not feel at all guilty about turning down anything that will involve public speaking, leadership, or large groups (our supervision group is small and we know each other well). She saw what was happening to her not as running away, but as running towards a new future; a future in which she could be herself. Her evident delight in what has happened, and how it has turned out, is encouraging.
As feedback from the diocesan conference continues, most people, it seems, had a good time; some had a great time, especially those, like some from our deanery, who were new to ministry or new to the Church. Good. I’m pleased for them. I still know that I made the right decision for myself; in fact, I am even more confirmed in that decision. I gather that my absence was the cause of comment, and some concern, which is kind of people, I suppose, except that I can imagine what was said, because I’ve heard it said of others in the whispered late-night bar-closed conference conversation - poor old so-and-so, can’t hack it any longer you know; poor whats-is-name, lost his faith, I hear. It is not possible, it seems, that someone might just have decided this sort of event was not for them, or be tired out, or feel that their energies were better spent elsewhere. It has to be a breakdown, a crisis of faith or conscience. Well no, it’s none of those things, just my shadow capital running low. The warning light is flashing on the dashboard.
Saturday, 21 June 2008
Waxing and Waning
A friend of mine, when presented with his newborn son, took a look at him and said “He must wax, and I shall wane”. In St John’s Gospel, 3:30, John the Baptist is recorded as saying of Jesus Christ, He must increase and I must decrease. In the light of this text, St Augustine of Hippo decreed that the feast day of the Nativity of John the Baptist should be held on Midsummer’s Day. After this the days get gradually shorter, until the feast of Our Lord’s Nativity at Christmas, when they begin once again to lengthen. This also had the handy effect of Christianising the popular pagan festivities of the Summer Solstice. The new feast took over the great fires of renewal and protection which had been a part of the old heathen festival. Bonfires blazed on hilltops; burning tar barrels were pushed about the streets; flaming wheels were sent hurtling down slopes. The festivities remained the same, but now said to be in honour of the Baptist, rather than a solar ritual to strengthen the sun at the beginning of its long slow decline to the Winter Solstice.
The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day.
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small.
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
In some parts rushbearing ceremonies were also held in June and early July. Churches and other buildings had earth floors, strewn with rushes to make them more pleasant. The rush was worth harvesting, to make wicks for torches, thatching roofs, plastering on walls, weaving for seats, ropes and mats. This was a good time to go out and cut new rushes to renew and replace those that had been walked over for the past twelve months. The rush cart would be brought back with merriment, singing and dancing and, yes, beer would be drunk and the carrying-on would carry on through several days.
Some places, such as the little town, still carry these things on. Last night we welcomed visiting morris dancers. A rush cart has been constructed. Today there is a fair, and in the evening a concert and a country dance. And on Sunday, the whole procession heads to the church for a service the like of which is not often seen.
The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day.
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small.
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
In some parts rushbearing ceremonies were also held in June and early July. Churches and other buildings had earth floors, strewn with rushes to make them more pleasant. The rush was worth harvesting, to make wicks for torches, thatching roofs, plastering on walls, weaving for seats, ropes and mats. This was a good time to go out and cut new rushes to renew and replace those that had been walked over for the past twelve months. The rush cart would be brought back with merriment, singing and dancing and, yes, beer would be drunk and the carrying-on would carry on through several days.
Some places, such as the little town, still carry these things on. Last night we welcomed visiting morris dancers. A rush cart has been constructed. Today there is a fair, and in the evening a concert and a country dance. And on Sunday, the whole procession heads to the church for a service the like of which is not often seen.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
On Retreat or on the Run?
The diocesan conference is about to take place. Three hundred people all trying to eat breakfast and ask each other which parish they are from? Lots of people in coffee queues saying what they really think about the state of things? Loads of clergy all in one place? I think not. I’m off in the opposite direction, thanks very much.
Survival kit for a three day retreat must include:
One feather pillow
One orthopaedic pillow
Walking stick and boots
Laptop computer for keeping up with journal
Bananas
Cherries
Pringles
Books to take on retreat:
Revelations; the collected Canongate pocket canons
Road to Daybreak – Henri Nouwen
A Devil’s Chaplain; selected essays by Richard Dawkins
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe – D Adams
Looking into the Distance – Richard Holloway
A Reading Diary – Alberto Manguel
Do nothing to Change your Life – S Cottrell
Is there a Book in You? – A Baverstock
On Chesil Beach – I McEwan
The Reader – Bernhard Schlink
Music to take on retreat:
Bach Cello suites 1-6
Goldberg variations
A CD of the music we use in our tai chi sessions by Budi Siebert
Ask me no questions – Djivan Gasparyan
Shine eyed Mister Zen – Kelly Joe Phelps
Live Mandorock 2000 – The Phil Beer Band (for motorway driving)
See ya!
Survival kit for a three day retreat must include:
One feather pillow
One orthopaedic pillow
Walking stick and boots
Laptop computer for keeping up with journal
Bananas
Cherries
Pringles
Books to take on retreat:
Revelations; the collected Canongate pocket canons
Road to Daybreak – Henri Nouwen
A Devil’s Chaplain; selected essays by Richard Dawkins
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe – D Adams
Looking into the Distance – Richard Holloway
A Reading Diary – Alberto Manguel
Do nothing to Change your Life – S Cottrell
Is there a Book in You? – A Baverstock
On Chesil Beach – I McEwan
The Reader – Bernhard Schlink
Music to take on retreat:
Bach Cello suites 1-6
Goldberg variations
A CD of the music we use in our tai chi sessions by Budi Siebert
Ask me no questions – Djivan Gasparyan
Shine eyed Mister Zen – Kelly Joe Phelps
Live Mandorock 2000 – The Phil Beer Band (for motorway driving)
See ya!
Sunday, 3 February 2008
Voices in Conversation
More notes from the Jeremiah sessions with Anders Bergquist;
“the swirling of several interpreting voices in conversation” (Brueggemann);
“the Book is the Jupiter of the Biblical planetary system” (Bergquist)
Here we have poetic justice and the law of cause and effect; the recovery of the concept of natural law. The Jews considered themselves to be a people exceptionalised by God – so how could this happen? And who is still saying something similar to this today? Here we can also find the law of unintended consequences, there in the sixth century BCE, waiting to help us in post-2003 Iraq and Afghanistan. Here we have the answer to today’s spin-doctors who spray optimism over our fears and misgivings, telling us not to worry, all will be well, and to the box-tickers, who show us the system to follow if we wish to be saved. It is Jeremiah who points out that it ain’t necessarily so, that there could be a more complex, a darker narrative in store for us, without necessarily denying a loving God behind the story.
“the swirling of several interpreting voices in conversation” (Brueggemann);
“the Book is the Jupiter of the Biblical planetary system” (Bergquist)
Here we have poetic justice and the law of cause and effect; the recovery of the concept of natural law. The Jews considered themselves to be a people exceptionalised by God – so how could this happen? And who is still saying something similar to this today? Here we can also find the law of unintended consequences, there in the sixth century BCE, waiting to help us in post-2003 Iraq and Afghanistan. Here we have the answer to today’s spin-doctors who spray optimism over our fears and misgivings, telling us not to worry, all will be well, and to the box-tickers, who show us the system to follow if we wish to be saved. It is Jeremiah who points out that it ain’t necessarily so, that there could be a more complex, a darker narrative in store for us, without necessarily denying a loving God behind the story.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
Judgement and Hope
Two days “continuing ministerial education” (that’s in-service training to everyone else). Six lectures on the Book of Jeremiah. That’s, let me see, yes, that’s six more Old Testament lectures than I have been to in the entire preceding thirty five years since leaving university. Not bad. And, in case you were wondering, it was entirely voluntary. No force was used to get me into the lecture room. I went willingly and enjoyed myself! And the food was good too! In fact, doing a degree in theology seems like a very attractive option. OK, I’ve already got one, but I bunked and flunked my way through it. The pints-of-beer to essays-completed ratio was seriously skewed. University is wasted on the young.
Anyway, Jeremiah. Defined in the dictionary as a “doleful complainer” (and he is listed just above another OT character, Jeroboam, who gives his name to an enormous bottle of champagne).
Jeremiah is seriously brilliant stuff. Completely relevant to today’s world, and to much that I’ve been doing later. Anyone having a ministerial crisis of confidence should read the so-called “Confessions of Jeremiah” (before you all rush, this is not confessions as in “Confessions of a Window-Cleaner”; it’s more thoughts, poetry, personal reflections and musings on matters personal and spiritual). Some of the most honest and challenging personal theology in the entire Bible. Jeremiah is not afraid to tell God EXACTLY what he thinks of him and the mess he has got him into.
Think that no-one listens to what you have to say? Jeremiah knew all about that. Think you can see exactly where society is going wrong, and that you can accurately predict the consequences? Jeremiah too? Yep. Fed up with people telling you to shut up and stop being a miserable bugger; God wouldn’t let it happen? Check.
Jeremiah is a meditation on disaster and aftermath which speaks into the modern world. You can read Jeremiah with profit when considering the Shoah/Holocaust; climate change; Al Qaida and terrorism; and much else besides. Walter Brueggemann has written powerfully on this, setting Jeremiah’s reflections on the destruction of Jerusalem in 587BCE alongside the destruction of the World Trade Centre in 2001CE. What about this?
“Taken as an act of brutality, the 9/11 event is not overly spectacular because in the end it entailed a relatively modest number of deaths. No doubt, that modest event has gained enormous symbolic importance because of its locus in New York City, a locus that invites perpetual media attention and commentary. Taken as a symbolic event … 9/11 is of enormous significance in US culture, for it has introduced into US awareness a dimension and depth of vulnerability that was heretofore unthinkable…. I submit that the loss of 9/11 is powerfully analogous to the loss of Jerusalem and its temple in 587BCE.”
Anyway, Jeremiah. Defined in the dictionary as a “doleful complainer” (and he is listed just above another OT character, Jeroboam, who gives his name to an enormous bottle of champagne).
Jeremiah is seriously brilliant stuff. Completely relevant to today’s world, and to much that I’ve been doing later. Anyone having a ministerial crisis of confidence should read the so-called “Confessions of Jeremiah” (before you all rush, this is not confessions as in “Confessions of a Window-Cleaner”; it’s more thoughts, poetry, personal reflections and musings on matters personal and spiritual). Some of the most honest and challenging personal theology in the entire Bible. Jeremiah is not afraid to tell God EXACTLY what he thinks of him and the mess he has got him into.
Think that no-one listens to what you have to say? Jeremiah knew all about that. Think you can see exactly where society is going wrong, and that you can accurately predict the consequences? Jeremiah too? Yep. Fed up with people telling you to shut up and stop being a miserable bugger; God wouldn’t let it happen? Check.
Jeremiah is a meditation on disaster and aftermath which speaks into the modern world. You can read Jeremiah with profit when considering the Shoah/Holocaust; climate change; Al Qaida and terrorism; and much else besides. Walter Brueggemann has written powerfully on this, setting Jeremiah’s reflections on the destruction of Jerusalem in 587BCE alongside the destruction of the World Trade Centre in 2001CE. What about this?
“Taken as an act of brutality, the 9/11 event is not overly spectacular because in the end it entailed a relatively modest number of deaths. No doubt, that modest event has gained enormous symbolic importance because of its locus in New York City, a locus that invites perpetual media attention and commentary. Taken as a symbolic event … 9/11 is of enormous significance in US culture, for it has introduced into US awareness a dimension and depth of vulnerability that was heretofore unthinkable…. I submit that the loss of 9/11 is powerfully analogous to the loss of Jerusalem and its temple in 587BCE.”
A Theology of the Book of Jeremiah: Walter Brueggemann 2007
Friday, 18 January 2008
Contemplative Fire
By the way, Philip Roderick does some really good stuff. See http://contemplativefire.org/ and Philip's blog http://rodericksrambles.wordpress.com/. The DVD is called Sacred Posture, and was filmed at the Society of Mary and Martha at Sheldon.
Close the Book
Gloucester diocese are running a programme in primary schools called “Open the Book”, to introduce children to the stories of the Bible. Other dioceses are picking it up too. I think we are running “Close the Book” here. More and more of our school assemblies involve fewer and fewer words. Today I introduced the little village school to Sacred Posture, the work of Philip Roderick on Body Prayer. They took to it straight away. I had thirty five children, plus two teachers and a mum, spread out around the hall, standing still and silent while we reflected on the Lord’s Prayer …. for ten minutes! We’ll go on and learn the movements, which are simple and slow, a bit like tai chi. Just think what it’ll be like if it ever stops raining and we can go and do this outside on the field!
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
Someone else is out there
Someone else is out there with similar ideas. An excellent training day on political theology, with the very excellent Luke Bretherton, who lectures at my old theological college. I was there before he was born, of course, but no matter, the guy talks sense. Four models of political engagement for the Church: pastor (putting sticking plasters on the wounds), pedagogy (setting ourselves up as an example to the world - not much chance of that these days), party (what i've been doing lately, engaging with local government on schools policies and the unpleasant necessity of meetings with actual politicians), and prophet (telling 'em how it is). I've been around long enough to hear ideas and people for the second and third time, but that doesn't matter, if they're good. Saul Alinsky and Citizen Organising goes back to the forties, but it's good stuff that has never been properly tested out. Maybe someone will take it on at last?
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