Litany of Resistance

During Lent, as during Advent we have been holding a prayer and protest vigil outside HSBC for one hour each week. This time we have opened and closed the time there by praying together the "Litany of Resistance." You can read it in full here.

It is a very powerful prayer which speaks to and of a God who weeps with the suffering of the world, those who are still being crucified by systems and practices which promote death rather than life.

As we have repeated the words each week, one phrase more than any other has spoken to me:

"With the violence of apathy; we will not comply"

I guess it's the juxtaposition of two words which might seem at first glance to be incompatible which seared it in to my consciousness.

Apathy holds a sense of inactivity, of nothingness. And yet I guess this statement stands as a reminder of the fact that to do nothing is to side with the powerful; to choose not to engage is a privilege only the powerful have.

I can only ignore the devastating effects of climate change, the horrific implications of trading in weaponry for profit, the horrifying reality of the "hostile environment for migration", the desperate poverty created by the extraction of resources or imposition of complicated trading legislation, the anxiety and fear caused by cuts imposed by austerity,  because I am one of the privileged few.

I can only say I do not have the energy or the time to fight those battles because to not do so has only a limited, if any, impact on the life I can lead.

And so it stands as a call: not to stick a sticking plaster on a gaping wound, but to find ways to speak against a rhetoric of fear and exclusion and hatred of the other; to find ways to challenge systems and structures of destruction and death; to stand, as God does, with those being 'crucified' today and offer the hope of resurrection.

I find it a deeply beautiful phrase because it reminds us of the potential we have to make a difference. I find it a deeply challenging phrase because I know I have a very long way to go.

Holding on to the song

It is Holy Week, and often, right now, I would be walking with Student Cross. Other commitments mean that this year, I was able to walk the first weekend, and will go back for the very end, but in the interim I am back in Birmingham.

It shouldn't be too hard: I am back in a place I love, with people I care about and commitments I really believe in. But half my heart is walking across the fens this week. This poem: written in the raw space of leaving them behind, I guess tries to say something about why I have learned to love this transient community so much. See you soon Northern Leg.

Beneath a sky stretched out wide, the smiles burn bright

As here rooted, protected a soul dares take flight

So what might cast a shadow, only dapples the light

And the laughter still whispers by day and by night

Preserving uniqueness, we enter the throng

Each playing our part as we hold on to the song

Warmed by fragile spring sun, our hearts dare to thaw

As emotions run deep and emotions run raw

In the hope of the healing of all that is sore

There’s space for the trusting of being unsure

And as we stand by another to journey along

Sometimes it’s our turn to hold on to the song

And though there are tears and exhaustion and pain

A buffeting of wind and a battering of rain

Though there’s something to lose there is much more to gain

And ever and onward is the murmured refrain

And as each of us learn we can’t always be strong

We know there’ll be someone holding on to the song

Where once lines seemed clear, the boundaries are blurred

Creating loving community in action and word

And even the silences strain to be heard

As heart speaks to heart, the divine is inferred

When things seem all right and when things feel all wrong

Through this and through that we’ll hold on to the song

Amidst the intricate beauty of nature’s design

With the black knots of our darkness, the gold strands that dare shine

We’re walking a tapestry as our lives intertwine

And a small thread of your story becomes a small stitch in mine

Each bringing our own self finds a way to belong

Thus creating the harmony, thus holding the song

To ourselves, to another, a message to send

With yet space for the brokenness not ready to mend

We step out together: a stranger, a friend

For the point is the journey, and not journey’s end

And while the ground may seem hard and the road sometimes long,

Somehow together we’ll hold on to the song.

Another way to love

One of the biggest developments in our life this year is one about which I have scarcely written here. There are a whole variety of reasons for that: some relating to what feels sufficiently newsworthy to share, others relating to respecting another person's privacy.

Since May, our now-15-year-old Goddaughter has moved to live, during term times, with us here in Birmingham, and her arrival as a member of our 'family' has been hugely significant. While it may not be appropriate to detail every moment of our journey together, it does feel important to acknowledge and reflect on the impact of this latest adventure, and this is my space to do that.

Of course this change has had a significant impact on our day-to-day life and our responsibilities: sometimes doing things we otherwise wouldn't have, or not doing things we might; doing things together and adapting accordingly to what that looks like; accommodating another person's food preferences, parents' evening from a different side to the one I am used to seeing them and ...

More than any of that, though, I think I have learned / am learning a different way to love: different in ways I can't explain from the love I offer my husband, my family and friends, the students I care about ... Maybe this is something that every parent understands more fully than I ever will, and can explain more coherently too. But for me this unique experience of love is still new, and still hard to express. It is a love which, I think, stems from the wonderful privilege of being offered the chance in a very particular way to love someone just the way they are whilst at the same time journeying with them in shaping who they are destined to become.

I realise 15 is no easy place to be: I get that it is incredibly challenging to exist in this strange space between child and adulthood. While some of us (myself included at times) are perhaps mourning their lost youth, I have no doubt really I would rather be where I am now than in my own teenage angst-ridden skin. And this young person has taken on even more than most: leaving the familiarity of home and school for a whole other set of people and a whole new environment...and she has done so with great grace. I hope she always holds on to the character and quiet courage which have brought her this far, and that it carries her through whatever experiences the world throws at her.

I am not immune to fearing for how she will find her way in this complicated world we inhabit; or of my ability to watch her make mistakes and get hurt as she inevitably will. And it would be dishonest to suggest there are no minor irritations thrown in for good measure (as there are, undoubtedly, for her too!)

But I am continuously encouraged and amazed by her resilience, and proud in ways I didn't know I would be of who she is already and of the potential for who she will be in the future. In the midst of all that, she is simply good company and I am delighted to have the chance to share in the fun and laughter she brings.

I guess, then, perhaps, this post is above all my tribute: to an astonishing young woman, who I love, very deeply, in a way that is unique to her: something she may or may not ever realise. My hope for my own part in this story is that I can in whatever small ways help her, as she continues to grow, to truly know how precious she is and to understand her own inherent value and worth.