In the beginning was the word ...

And then there were the pictures.

The pictures below are not a recent piece of work. So much so that they predate me entering the world of the blog (although I think they may have been on facebook at the time, so if they look familiar, that could be why).

With one (or occasionally two) pictures for each chapter of John's Gospel, the project was the fruit of many hours of reflection, and also marked the beginning of my rediscovery of an enjoyment of art. While I now know (and would have done at the time if I had stopped to think about it) that they'd have wrinkled less if I'd used proper painting paper instead of cheap printer paper, overall I remain quite pleased with how they turned out and some of what they attempt to communicate.

I recently got them out again to display in the poster frames on the staircase at church, and decided it would be appropriate to share them here too. Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As love which flows ...

University feels a very long time ago (maybe because it is). But way back then I lived with a group of people who, even now, when I talk about them in the collective, I refer to as "my housemates" despite the fact that it is more than ten years since we lived together, and that one of them was, strictly speaking, never our housemate in the first place anyway. I am aware that I was very lucky to be thrown together with this group of people who I still count among my best friends.

Lives have moved on of course since university days, and our lives all look very different to they did when were 18 (thank goodness!) and different to each others too. I am really pleased then, that in spite of jobs, marriage, children, physical distance and the general busy-ness of life, we have maintained our friendship.

When, last summer, one of my "housemates" not only asked me if I would read at her wedding but also asked if I had any suggestions of suitable texts, I, somewhat rashly perhaps, offered to write something. Actually, there was nothing rash about it at all. I thought long and hard before making the suggesting the idea. I don't normally write 'to order' but simply when the mood takes me so I knew there was a fairly high chance that I wouldn't be able to come up with anything anyway. More significantly I was also very aware, in making the offer that I wanted her to feel absolutely free to say thanks, but no thanks; both immediately, and more importantly, as a response to whatever I wrote. I didn't want her to be left thinking, 'nah, that's not what we want to say, but I suppose now she's written it we ought to use it'. If I went ahead and made the offer, it was because I decided she knew me well enough to know that when I said I wouldn't be offended if she didn't use it, I really meant it.

Trying to draw together some of the themes they hoped to express at their wedding, and inspired partly by my own experience of, at that point, about ten years of married life (which is probably as close as I'm ever going to get to a romantic comment on this blog), this was the result:

As rain which pours
From endless skies

And in these drops

From heaven sent

Are born

The newness

Of

A source

Welling up

And spilling over

And is this joy? The bubbly exuberance Of refreshment Splashing Into rainbows With The confidence of youth And in this Tumultuous tumbling Swirls A mass of rocky debris These The jagged edges Which might yet be The solid foundations Of a life not yet lived As criss-crossed streams Converge Divide Through friendships formed And moments shared In tracks and grooves Of other lives Or carving out A new way All their own

And is this grace? The giving way To the twisting complications These realities We call life Which bump and spill Through obstacles and invitations The eddies of a pace which speeds and slows But is never Still In streams which meet And flows that mingle Becoming one As a stronger flow Flows on And carries Greater burdens But Promises Greater life A river which at its joining Offers no barriers But opens space Where others too Might find a place

And is this faith? The tumbling Blindly off a cliff With the energy Of trusting Life flows on In an unknown better place Where the other Also leaps To follow No straight line route From a to b Meandering Across The landscape of a lifetime Shaped By this And is this peace? Daring To know The end may not be The destination When on this shore Waves gently lap Across rounded pebbles Rubbed smooth By the trusting of time With the satisfied sigh Of a life well-lived Together

As joy, and grace, and faith, and peace

Find love.

Beautiful Birmingham

I have never thought of myself as a big city person. One of the aspects of moving here I was less than sure about was how much I would enjoy living at the heart of the city. I recognised, of course, the practical value: everything on the doorstep, fantastic transport links, all of that, and I also knew that the opportunity at Carrs Lane was an exciting one; but for all that I wasn't really convinced city centre life was going to be for me.

And yet, almost two years on, I have grown to love Birmingham. Don't get me wrong, it is very far from perfect. I still find the number of people who choose to spend their weekends in the shopping centres slightly depressing, I still dislike being stuck on a bus in too much traffic, I still yearn for real, wild green sometimes...

But much to my surprise those things are outweighed by a love for this place I have adopted as home: by knowing that each time I walk out the front door the streets will be full of life and diversity; by knowing that there is so much going on and so much to be involved in that you will never be able to do it all; by knowing that there is hidden beauty in unexpected places if you are willing to open your eyes and look for it.

Thank you, Birmingham, for becoming home.

The morning after the night before

I stayed up all night on Thursday. It made for a fairly depressing night of television viewing . With my facebook friends clearly not being an accurate reflection of the views of the nation, there was much doom and gloom by early Friday morning. It would have been easy for those of us who would describe ourselves as "left" to fall into a depressed inertia or wallow in the self-pity of wondering why everyone else couldn't just think like us. It was to remind myself, as well as others, that I wrote 

So a depressing election night draws to a close ... But politics doesn't just happen once every five years, it happens every day: in creative action, in voices speaking out about what they believe, in changing hearts and minds. So I will not cry into my morning cup of tea, I will aspire to go out and continue with the real politics I and others can believe in. because boy will there be work to be done!

I know I am extremely lucky to be able to be involved in lots of things about which I am really passionate. So for me, that real politics began on Friday morning when I had the privilege of helping facilitate a mock election among the students I teach at St Chad's Sanctuary. Their insights and ideas were just the inspiration I needed at that moment.

Beginning with a discussion of the necessary qualities of a leader, none of them, funnily enough, mentioned being photogenic or media-savvy. Instead they called for those who are honest, promote justice, have faith in the new generation, are good diplomats, are fair, want human rights, are "strong but also kind" and, in a tell-tale sign of other experiences who are "able to pass the power to others in a good way". 

Fourteen students from Iran, Eritrea, Congo, Sudan, Guinea and Syria formed four political parties. They wrote their manifesto, trained up their candidate, presented their ideas and voted for the new prime minister. Any of them could have got my vote.

As this was going on, there was plenty of opportunity for discussion: about policies and the things they hold dear, but also about political experience and what it means. My Congolese student who had previously told me "I don't like elections because too many people died" was clearly in his element presenting his vision for an alternative. The Sudanese students reflected on whether the situation in their country, where opposition parties are allowed to exist even if the endemic corruption and violence means they are never elected, is perhaps slightly better than the experience of their Eritrean classmates, where all opposition groups are completely outlawed.

Relatively limited English didn't prevent them choosing policies which encompassed big themes. They were a reminder of how often our politics, bogged down in  minutiae and personalities, forgets to communicate the principles and values we ought to hold most dear. In spite of hesitant English and evident nerves, they presented their ideas with clarity and passion.

For all  of them, peace, justice and human rights were significant priorities. They spoke of their desires to stop all wars, to make friendship between different countries, to allow people to have different opinions, to value people's culture and religion and identity. They spoke of the need for economic development, suggested a higher minimum wage, better training and more jobs. They campaigned for affordable food for all. Education figured prominently, with calls for free, better quality education for all, and specific mentions of the need to educate girls in Africa. Access to free healthcare, medical centres in villages, better care for the disabled and more doctors and nurses were all mentioned. 

While lots of their ideas were clearly borne out of personal experience,it was refreshingly evident that these were not self-interested ideas seeking only what was best for themselves, but that they encompassed a vision of a better world being possible. One party even named themselves the "New Vision Party." "We will help all other people and other countries who don't have what we have" promised the young Eritrean woman who was eventually elected.

Sadly they are not allowed to vote and influence who is in power in Westminster. But as long as there are voices which dare to believe in a different vision, there is hope for our "politics" yet.

The Mystery of Love

Another poem which has taken a while to see the light of day! This one was inspired by a workshop by Brother Stephen in Taize last summer. He used a number of artworks to explore different types of human love: between parents and children, between siblings, between friends, between lovers; leading to an exploration of what insights they offer into our understanding of divine love. This poem was my response to some of the ideas raised.

Rembrandt - The return of the Prodigal Son

As a beloved child

This warm embrace

Of discovering

This loving gaze

That’s scarce remembered

Yet deeply felt

Daring to stretch

A hand that holds

This gift of life

Our accepted vulnerability

In all we are and cannot be

There is a spark of the divine

In this unconditional welcome

We call love

Bonnat - Jacob Wrestles with an angel

As siblings side by side

This crucible of yearning

Of learning

To love and lose

To fight, to fall

And then forgive

Daring to stretch

A hand that says

In all the pain I do to you

And you to me

In all we are and cannot be

There is a spark of the divine

In this eternal struggle

We call love

Icon - Jesus and St Menas (Jesus and his friend)

As friends who tread

These interwoven journeys

Of exploring

Identities

Which converge, divide

But do not force

Daring to stretch

A hand that guides

And gives permission

To stay close, or drift away

In all we are and cannot be

There is a spark of the divine

In this shared understanding

We call love

Chagall - Song of Songs

As lovers lives which intertwine

These creative places

Of knowing

That I can just be me

And yet together

We are somehow something more

Daring to stretch

A hand that offers

Completion

In ways I didn’t know I wasn’t

In all we are and cannot be

There is a spark of the divine

In this burning passion

We call love

In the welcome and the struggle

The sharing and the passion

In this dance of human lives

Incarnate

With all we are and cannot be

There lives the whole

Of the divine

In this mystery of love

We call God

Truth and Tolerance

Since moving here one of the challenges that has sometimes been addressed to us is to question whether our firm convictions, and the centrality of importance we have given the prayer life of the community has limited our potential to be open to those of different or no faith. It is a question, interestingly enough, which I have most often heard from others who profess the same Christian faith I am aspiring to live through this experience.

At the most simple and practical level, we were invited to move here to establish an intentional, residential, Christian community, so the grounding of the community in Christian faith and values was never something which was up for debate. For me, to be grounded in faith is much less about following a set of rules or doctrines, and much more about finding space to open ourselves to the love and guidance of God: so to be a Christian community, the centrality of prayer had to be an unquestionable reality.

Equally, with a vocation to live in and serve the city it was clear that our ministry would bring us into contexts with people of all faiths and none and every spectrum of belief in between: it is part of the joy, excitement and challenge of city centre life and was also never in question. We have shared our table with people of different faiths and none, and our voluntary work has brought us into contact with those of many beliefs and cultures. In prayer too, we have been joined by those with theological positions vastly different to one another, with those of other faiths, and with those unsure about the very existence of God.

To explore this challenge a little further, though, it is, I think, a question which draws on a deeper societal context: one which holds both great promise and great danger for the church as well as for wider society, and on which it is well worth pausing to reflect.

I wonder whether, as the pendulum swings away from past intolerance and strict narrowly defined codes, we have strayed into a place where we have assumed that tolerance and understanding means standing for nothing; or perhaps more accurately not daring to admit to those things which are part of our fundamental beliefs and identity. Our very positive desire to be welcoming and inclusive has left us in danger of succumbing to the myth that “anything goes”. Our belief in universal freedom has left us so desperate to keep our options open that we have shied away from experiencing the true freedom of making a commitment. The most dangerous heresies are always those which are the closest to the truth.

It is true that as a community we hold strongly to our Christian identity. It is not something for which I feel the need to apologise. I don’t think holding tightly to a vocation to pray and be inspired by the love of God and being open and welcoming of those who do not believe in that same God have ever been mutually exclusive.

On the contrary, it is the experience of God’s unconditional love through prayer together which has given us the courage and confidence to turn outwards. Finding our hope in prayer doesn’t make us better than others, nor does it mean we do not have our own questions, struggles, doubts and difficulties; but it has inspired the vision and vocation to always look outwards beyond our core community, and be open and welcoming to others. Of course there is always room for improvement, but I think, both through our volunteering and our hospitality, it is something we have done reasonably well so far. Perhaps it is the security of knowing ourselves to be loved just as we are, found in the experience of God’s unconditional love, which has also allowed us to deepen relationships with others in all their diversity.

I know that this challenge, offered undoubtedly in love, grows out of a desire to embrace diversity, and welcome people as they are. It is a legitimate aspiration, and is, I think, one of the things Jesus did best. But Jesus found the strength for the ministry which took him out towards others in the firm foundation of a life of prayer and relationship with the Father. For us too then, like the Jesus we dare to try and follow, welcoming one another in mutual love never means forgetting, denying or hiding who we truly are. 

Turning the Tables on Trident

"We are called to live in the virtue of that life and power that takes away the occasion for all wars. Do you faithfully maintain our testimony that war and the preparation for war are inconsistent with the spirit of Christ? Search out whatever in your own life may contain the seeds of war. Stand firm in our testimony, even when others commit, or prepare to commit acts of violence, yet always remember they too are children of God"  

Quaker Advices and Queries, 31.

I marked the entry into Holy Week somewhat differently this year. On Palm Sunday a group of about twenty of us gathered at the gates of Aldermaston Atomic Weapons Establishment. We braved the wind and rain to share food together, then, after a short liturgy at the gate, set off to walk around the perimeter of the base, pausing at fourteen stations of the cross, to remember the events of Jesus' passion and pray for those involved in or suffering as a result of the nuclear weapons industry.  It took around three hours to circle the base, a reminder of just how vast the operation is. At each stop we left a fabric cross tied to the fence, ragged ends flapping in the wind: fragile symbols of hope in a place of death.

This is the place of the cross

Where the suffering servant suffers still

Hidden behind barbed wire and state secrets

Veiled in hatred and fear

But this place too

This is still Holy Ground

The following day took a group of us to Burghfield, the other nuclear facility nearby, where the missiles are actually constructed, to blockade one of the gates. There was a strange contradiction between the beauty and peace as the sun rose above us, and the weapons of death being built behind us.

This was a new experience for me, and I cannot deny feeling distinctly apprehensive before we arrived, even if I was not going to one of those lying locked in front of the gates. Nerves aside, though, it did feel like exactly the right place to be. One by one, those on the ground were cut out of the tubes and moved to the grass verges. Some three hours after our dawn arrival, the gateway was clear, apart from the police vans which still kept it very effectively closed. Once everyone had been removed, we gathered to pray and sing together, before sharing the peace, with each other and with the police and going on our way.

The whole two days felt like a fitting way to commemorate Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, followed by his turning of the tables in the temple. Just as Jesus made his way to the centre of power to challenge the political and military powers of his day; so are we, as Christians called to continue to challenge systemic injustice and violence in the societies where we live. The industrial-military complex is one of, if not the most, significant of those systems in the midst of which I feel we are called to bear witness to the hope of other possibilities.

The timing had a dual significance: with this moment in the liturgical calendar coinciding with parliament being dissolved in preparation for the general election. Although work on trident renewal has already begun without official parliamentary approval, it will be in the hands of the next parliament to make a final decision. It is not too late for them to seek the way of peace.

On a personal level, the whole experience was powerful in many ways, not all of which I feel have necessarily fully been able to process or would be able to explain. From a loosely connected network of people, we built, in twenty-four hours, a close-knit, supportive, loving community of people we had to dare to trust. Too often peace is seen as the passive alternative of "just letting things happen" or of "keeping ourselves to ourselves", and it was inspiring to share with others an understanding that peace is an active, committed, alternative voice. Whatever the future holds for the UK nuclear weapons industry, it was important to be present, at this time and in this place; to put our time, our energy, our efforts into saying no, not in my name.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cqi7hZ-qLXM&feature=youtu.be

Related Links: 
Reflections by one of the others present on the Put Down the Sword blog: 

And in the media:
Premier Radio
Morning Star
Ekklesia

You are the Salt of the Earth

A month has passed since we welcomed something over forty people to Birmingham for a Taize weekend on the theme "You are the Salt of the Earth," with many more joining us for Saturday evening prayer.

A fair amount of hard work and organisation from a number of people went in to making the weekend run smoothly. I hope they, like me, agree it was worth it. There were times of prayer, opportunities for sharing and discussion, the sharing of experiences on themes of solidarity and friendship, a fresh look at familiar bible texts. There was good food, good conversation, good company.

Afterwards I was asked what my favourite part of the weekend was: but there was no one moment that stood out. The best thing about the meeting, for me, was simply this: the spirit which encompassed the whole; that somehow, together, we created a beautiful space: a space of genuine prayer, of willing engagement, of shared hope.

So thank you: to all who came, who participated, who prayed, who sang, who played instruments, who played silly games, who cooked, who ate, who made cups of tea, who spoke, who listened, who shared, who moved chairs, who washed-up, who laughed, who entered fully into this shared experience.

 

 

 

Together we made something beautiful. Together we are the salt of the earth.

Dare to Enter

Sorting through a not-as-organised-as-I-aspire-for-it-to-be My Documents folder recently, I came across a couple of poems which I don't think have ever made it as far as this blog. Not surprising given how unreliable I have been at keeping this updated in the last year. 

A lot of my poetry, you may have noticed, has distinctly theological themes, and this one is directly inspired by a biblical text:

Then Jesus' mother and brothers arrived. Standing outside, they sent someone in to call him. A crowd was sitting around him, and they told him, "Your mother and brothers are outside looking for you." "Who are my mother and my brothers?" he asked. Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God's will is my brother and sister and mother." ...

... "Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times"

(Mark 3:31-35; 4:8)

I think this text is less to do with who people are, and much more to do with where they are. For me, it is about those who stand on the edges, who wait at the threshold, who want to position themselves where there's an easy way out; and it is about those who step inside, who take a front row seat, who choose to put themselves where it is much harder to just get up and leave.

This poem was written last summer, but perhaps, as we prepare to enter Holy Week and find our place in ongoing story of the Passion, now is an appropriate time to post it.

Do not

Stand at the door and wait

But come

Dare

To cross the threshold

Come

Dare to take your place

To sit with one another

To listen to my voice

Do not

Watch through the open window

But come

Dare

To enter a new place

Come

Among a different people

Those you do not know

Whether to fear or dare to love

Do not

Send me messages from afar

But come

Dare

To find this inside place

Come

Out of your comfort zone

And into my presence

And live this life

And here

Inside

Become what you are called to be

Be

My family

Be

As one

And then

Together

We will go out

As this

The inner life

Leads out

To where

Your seeds will grow

And your grain will be bountiful.

The provisional and the Permanent

Some of you may have noticed that permanent is not something I do very well. In fact, 18 months into this adventure it is, as a friend recently pointed out, our longest stint anywhere for a while: especially as we have no plans to move anywhere in the near future.

That said, it has hardly been a static 18 months with each week bringing more of the same. Every aspect of our lives, not least those we have lived with during that time, has been filled with variation.

In January and early February we welcomed Jenny and Jurg, a young Swiss couple into our community for five weeks. They joined us as part of a project of the Taizé community, who, throughout this, their anniversary year, are inviting groups of young adults to go "with empty hands" to live together in community.

Together, for five weeks, the five of us, formed one of these “small provisional communities”. It was a little different to the other communities that have been "sent out" from Taize, in that the others have involved a group of young people coming together to form, live and then leave their provisional community; whereas we invited two new members into a community which already existed and would continue to exist after they had moved on.

None the less, we, as much as they, were part of a provisional community for that time: because with each arrival and departure, the shape and feel of the community shifts and changes. Together we discovered new ways of being community. By eating together, living together, talking together and laughing together we grew to know each other. These five weeks were very much a shared experience.

We are discovering that, at least for the moment, this seems to be part of the reality of the community we are creating. Contrary to our initial expectation, and perhaps hope, that we would find others wanting to make the same long-term commitment as us, that hasn't so far proved to be the case. What we have encountered, repeatedly, is people who want to share this life for short periods of time. It is a development which has, I will not deny, engendered certain challenges, both in the need to repeatedly re-establish relationships with new people, and in terms of not yet having found others with whom to share the longer term responsibilities for carrying the life and vision of the community.

But if the challenges have been undeniable, there have also been immeasurable joys. They are not easy to list, these million little things we have shared. Living together through new discoveries, new experiences, new encounters. Being supported by others in a shared routine of prayer. Sharing different theological positions, but knowing you can still  sit down and eat together as one family.  Food, lots of shared food. And laughter. Plenty of laughter.

 

There is, I guess, a lot to be said for the constant reminders of the provisionality of our lives. We have learned that there are times when it is best not to try and hold to decisions too intransigently, or to try and tie up loose ends too neatly. At the same time, in the midst of regular change and renewal we have also learned the importance of, and need for constancy. It is, paradoxically, the experience of so much change that has reminded us to cling tightly to the core of our vision for what we hope this community might be. While much of our life may look different to what we imagined in the beginning, it feels right that the core values are not up for debate.

For now then, I think I'm content to settle for this balance of provisionality and permanence which seems to have characterised the adventure so far.