It feels like the end of an era.
Does 9 years constitute an era? Probably not.
But it is longer than I have ever invested in anything else in my life.
As many people already know, I moved out from
Carrs Lane last December. Since then I have had one foot out of the door, but
one still firmly in it ... I have remained active in the life of the community.
I continued to play an active part in the routine of daily prayer and our
weekly bible discussion until we broke up for summer in late July. I have still
been a frequent visitor to the community flat.
Now that too comes to an end.
From the beginning of September, the flat now sits empty as does most of the rest of the building, most of the time, although some activities
including a Sunday service will continue. And my own connection with this place
and community is gently drawing to a close. (Though not entirely, because the Stories group will continue to use the space for the time being)
I have enough respect for those involved to not
go into the details, but in honour of this being an honest
record of my life, I will simply say that I don't feel the end of the life
of the Carrs Lane Lived Community has been handled well by those with power in
the institutional church. I have been left angry, hurt and deeply sad about the way I
feel I have been treated ... but I refuse to be embittered.
I refuse to be embittered because thanks to, and
at times perhaps in spite of, the wider church we created something incredibly
beautiful here of which I am very proud. We created a place of silence and prayer at
the heart of a busy city. We filled the flat with people and enabled them to
meet one another. We reached out and engaged with the city in all its messy
complexity.
Perhaps with all endings there is a tendency to
want to dwell on the "what might have beens", and there are a
certainly a few of those mixed in with the journey of the Carrs Lane Lived
Community; but mostly today, I want to look back and celebrate "what has
been", because there is much to celebrate.
When we were invited to come to Carrs Lane we
were called here to "be church" at the heart of the city. To
"listen to the rhythms of the city" and to find fitting ways to pray
and to respond. It wasn't always easy: there is much complexity and pain as
well as beauty in this city.
And at times, those with whom we shared what we
were hearing and discovering didn't like what they heard: but I did. I loved
the rhythms I danced to during my time at Carrs Lane. Not that everything was
perfect and positive. We witnessed
sadness and anger and occasional violence. We witnessed excessive
consumerism being used as a salve to emptiness. We witnessed the lives of those
who have been discarded by society, those from whom all of us, often, prefer to
look away. But we also witnessed acts of compassion and community. We witnessed
diversity, vibrancy and life in all its fullness.
There have of course been many individual
highlights, too many to name, but including, in no specific order: feeling able
to give up a permanent city council contract to be paid by cheque instead at St
Chad's Sanctuary; buying a house which has enabled Hope Projects to house
destitute asylum seekers for coming up for six years; helping to organise the
Hidden Treasure Taize meeting bringing together hundreds of young adults from all across Europe at a point where friendship with our European neighbours felt more important than ever;
welcoming our teenage Goddaughter to live with us, cementing pray24brum as part
of the ecumenical life of the city and all the relationships that have grown
from it, a series of Christmas celebrations where we filled the flat with
people.
But although I can pick out those moments; more
significantly, ultimately, there was also a day to day life, with a vision to
be open to others and stitched together by a consistent routine of prayer. Much
of what is written in the community agreement we wrote when we began still
rings true for how I want to live my life. Much of what has been of the greatest
value is not newsworthy highlights but little every day moments many of which
I can probably scarcely remember but which I know have mattered, both
individually and as part of a whole.
There was, at the heart of it all, prayer. For
nine years, we prayed, daily. We will never know what the impact of that was,
is or will be, but I believe it was an important ministry to the city around us
and I trust that it mattered for at least my own life, and perhaps for others
too. Everything else was possible because of it.
There were all the events and projects and
protests that we were able to be a part of. There were the opportunities to use
our time, our space, our energies and our resources to do good, hopefully, in and for and
with our city and the wider world. There were the times when we could use our
voices to speak up for the things we believe in.
There were all the little everyday moments of
joy and community: shared meals, cups of tea, conversations. There was
theological reflection, action for change on the big issues of the world, as
well as plenty of moments for just having a lot of fun. There was safe space
for frustration and anger and tears: but there was also lots and lots of
laughter.
There were the different people who came to stay
with us and share our lives at vastly different points on their own life
journeys. There were people who passed through, briefly, and others who paused for much longer. There were people who came into our lives and out again and others with whom we have built lasting relationships. There were chance encounters and deepening friendships that would
never have happened without this space at the heart of the city and what we
made it into. There were the many different ways we learned to understand what
community is and the elastic edges of who belongs. There is a tablecloth with
605 names stitched into it which stands as testament to it.
So thank you, Carrs Lane.
It is time to walk away. Gracefully. Brushing
the dust from my sandals but carrying many treasures in my heart.
