Snow day!

Today was due to be a relatively busy day: a school visit, followed by the stories group, together with making sure everything was finalised and ready for the next "Festival of Encounter", and packing for a weekend with friends I haven't seen since 2019.

And then Birmingham woke up to a covering of snow which called off first the school visit and then the stories group (although as it turned out, by the afternoon the sun was out and the snow well on the way to disappearing).

I could, or possibly even should, have used the unexpected extra time to catch-up on the never-ending admin overload. There was a bit of that thrown into the mix, but mostly, I didn't.

Instead I built a snowman. 

And then got my painting stuff out for the first time in weeks. 

There are still emails that need to be answered ... but there always will be. On balance, I think it was a very good use of the day.

Why it's all worth while

I was about to start this post by saying 'the last couple of months have been exceptionally busy', but stopped myself on the basis that it was definitely going to be a misuse of the word exceptional, when there has in fact been nothing out of the ordinary. But it has been busy nonetheless: which is not a complaint, it is simply a fact. I wouldn't want it any other way.

In the midst of said busy-ness it can be easy to get caught up in the ever-lengthening to do lists and nitty-gritty of the everyday. It can be easy to focus on juggling multiple things at the same time or diving straight from one thing into the next. It can be easy to dwell on the enormity and unsolvability (which might not really be a word!) of the overarching issues. 

It can be easy to forget to pause and to prioritise. To forget to celebrate the precious little moments shared and appreciate the baby steps forward. To forget to remind ourselves what we are doing and why. 

Because yes, the last couple of months have been busy, and yes, of course there have been some struggles and frustrations in the mix, but they have mostly been busy with very many beautiful things, including, in no specific order: 

• Birthday cakes and candles
• Being alongside people in the nerves and excitement of first days at school
• Early morning starts accompanied by beautiful sunrises
• Phone calls and zoom calls and the connections they enable 
• A bit of DIY, a lot of sorting and tidying, and a house very much feeling like a home
• The laughter, tears, anger and hope of sharing stories with new groups of people in new place
• A cathedral filled with prayer and unity, and the connections that make it possible
• Reading good books
• Messages to and from all sorts of people and the holding of the relationships to which they witness
• Plans made, paper work done, spreadsheets updated, expenses paid  
• Witnessing or becoming aware of lots of little gestures of welcome by lots of different people just quietly getting on with doing their thing
• Finding school uniform that fits, and watching children and young people wear it with pride
• Taking a young person on their first ever train journey and knowing that on their second ever train journey they managed just fine on their own
• A bit of editing and proof-reading, and a bit of watching people grow beyond the support they once needed and start to trust their own abilities and make their way in the world
• A space to pray in gold, and green and purple
• Meeting new people, and scratching new countries off a map
• Cups of tea and conversations: the silly, the superficial and the serious 
• Down time and in between times of doing not very much
• Schools saying yes again and again
• Finding a place in a new faith community, and space for deep reflections with an existing online one 
• Hearing long-awaited good news for people I care about
• Every number in every column adding up as it is supposed to
• The anticipation of new projects as they start to take shape
• The words "report submitted on time" appearing next to our entry on the charities commission website.
• Board games and card games and associated fun and laughter with different groups of people
• Sharing in good news stories and being entrusted with more difficult ones.
• Lots of painted faces and the smiles behind them
• Staying connected with and reconnecting with friends 
• Opportunities to cook and eat and celebrate together, creating chaos but also community

The pausing matters. The remembering matters. Because this, and so much more, is why the busy-ness is, in fact, all worth while.

Snippets from a time away

I've recently come back from a few days away in the beautiful Derbyshire countryside and it probably says something about what a short break has done for my energy levels that I've been thinking about a number of disparate things that could potentially turn into blogposts. Rather than store them up and turn each into a full post I thought I'd share the snippets, just as they are, unrelated by anything other than the trip that inspired them. 

The needs for breaks and balance

Knowing that I wouldn't need to be at one of the hotels sorting out bus fares for school children on the Monday morning of half-term week, and that the REP wouldn't be available for our Stories session prompted me to think it would be a good opportunity to go away for a couple of days. The idea floated around for little while before, at fairly short notice, I booked something. I knew I was at the point of needing a break: I work hard and often push myself to my limits, but I think I have also got better over time at stepping back from the edge, whether that's by building in the balance of less busy days or weeks, or by taking time away. 

That said, I got to Friday evening half-wishing I wasn't going away the following day: there were too many things I wanted to fit in before I went away; and I questioned how I could possibly afford to 'give up' four days of valuable time. 

All of which was, to be fair, a sure and certain sign that my original decision to go away was the right one and I was right to stick to it and make sure I did in fact have a proper break. Sometimes, we, or at least I, need to remind ourselves that we are not indispensable and most things can in fact not get done, or can at least wait.  

Time off, intrusions accepted: on saying no, and sometimes saying yes

It was a concrete decision when I got on the train to put away my phone and read a book instead of scrolling through social media or "just finishing off" that email or two. It was the right transition into my brief time away and I found putting myself in a different physical space meant I was able to move into a different headspace too.

I didn't look at social media or for the most part my emails. I successfully ignored my diary and my to do list. I mostly only got my phone out of my pocket to take photos. I didn't set an alarm in the mornings. I went out for a couple of long walks, ate good food, finished a book and started another. I sat and drank cups of tea without feeling I should be doing something else at the same time.   

By and large, my "switching off" was successful.

Before I went away I had already decided that there was one work meeting that was important enough that I would attend it. I knew there was a temptation that would move me back into a different headspace: so it was an intentional and concerted effort that I snapped myself straight back out of work mode: my daysack was packed up before it started and I was out of the house for a long walk as soon as it finished. 

There were plenty of messages I didn't reply to or issues that I parked until I got home, but on one of the evenings, I was contacted by someone in a difficult situation which I decided I would do what I could to help with. A google search, a few suggestions, a phone call to someone else, a couple of messages to check back in, an issue resolved. It was, I believe, the right decision.  

Switching off and saying no is important. But sometimes so is saying yes. The challenge is discerning when each is the right call. I am sure I don't always get it right, but I am trying to.

The great outdoors and a trusty pair of trainers

Way back in 2020, a year which is mostly best forgotten, I started making a concerted effort to get outdoors everyday: cooped up indoors, I was determined to make the most of my permitted hour of daily exercise! It was something I stuck to throughout various incarnations of lockdown restrictions and for quite some time afterwards. When I was seeking out the positives in relation to that whole covid saga, I remember this was definitely one of mine and one I intended to take forward into whatever semblance of normality followed. But while there is still a reasonable amount of walking built in to my routine, it is definitely, perhaps inevitably, something I have allowed to drift in recent months. A lot of my walking more recently has been to get from A to B which, while not without value, is still different to walking for walking's sake. Likewise my bike, which had a long stretch of being my main form of transport, has definitely had fewer outings recently. 

The walks I went on during my few days a way were a little more than just a stroll along the canal though. On both of the full days I was there, I headed out for long walks which took up the best part of the day: I'm not sure on precise distance but my best estimate is about 12 to 15 miles each day, along footpaths and country roads, far away from the hustle and bustle which accompanies my normal life. I have written, often, about my love of living in Birmingham, and I find it hard, now, to imagine living somewhere without its vibrant diversity and busy-ness. Whatever may have been the case in the past, I no longer think I would like to live somewhere more rural, but I do enjoy spending time out in the countryside, and I do enjoy long walks, away from screens and all the other distractions of the everyday and the feeling of being the right kind of physically tired at the end of the day.

Short walks and long ones, finding green in the city and finding real green outside of it: all these things are important to me and I'm reminded to keep bumping them up my priority list.

Industrial past in a rural idyll

From Belper, where I was staying, one of my walks took me along the Derwent Valley Heritage Way to Matlock. It is a beautiful walk through quiet countryside. Rolling hills, a gently meandering river and trees silhouetted against the sky. The accompanying sound track was mostly birdsong. For long stretches of it, away from the population centres, I saw virtually no-one else. And yet at intervals, there were reminders of a busier, more industrial, past. 

The industrial revolution plays an important part in Birmingham's history too, but that is easily reconciled with the current landscape. It is much more difficult, now, to imagine this quiet countryside as the busy industrial heartland it once was. This was the home of major feats of engineering and significant industrial development. And yet now, that seems so far distant and even the relics of it: old mill buildings, chimneys, canals and disused railways seem at home in this rural idyll, belying their history. 

I'm sure there is something deep and meaningful to say about all that but I'll leave it as a simple observation.

Signs of spring, signs of hope

A number of the photos I took over the last few days reflect the fact that I find the intricate shapes and patterns of tree branches made visible by winter beautiful. But while most of the trees still had bare branches, my walks this past few days were surrounded by signs of spring: leaf buds on hedgerows, patches of snowdrops, crocuses and narcissi beginning to open, the sound of birdsong. I know I was, for February, probably exceptionally lucky with the weather, but I was bathed in blue skies and hints of warmth in the air. The clocks may not yet have changed, but I certainly appreciated the early evening light with the days definitely lengthening, and the sun setting noticeably later than those dark depths of December.

This isn't actually just an observations from the last few days: although more time outdoors, and more intentionally being present in the moment perhaps heightened my observations of it; but it is something I have been aware of, and tried to be deliberately attentive to in recent weeks. Even in inner city Birmingham, spring flowers are beginning to poke through. My regular routine now involves an early start on Monday mornings, and a forty minute (each way) walk, and while I haven't always been overly enamoured when the alarm goes off, I have seen some incredibly beautiful sunrises ... and there has also been something precious about watching the days get longer: I took particular note a couple of weeks back when for the first time it was already light as I set off. 

Spring is definitely on its way. 

Salt and Light, Earth and World

Despite being only a short text, Matthew 5: 13 - 16 gives us two powerful images. Hot on the heels of the beatitudes, it continues to explore the types of people Jesus’ followers are expected to be. I say expected to be, but one thing I noticed when reflecting on the text is that, at least in English, the conjugation that is attached to both these images of salt and light is “you are” … not you will be, or you should be, or you must be, or try to be... I wonder if that is significant?

I know the key part of these images is probably salt and light … but the next thing I found myself wondering about was earth and world: you are the salt of the earth, and the light of the world. I have checked, and they are different words in Greek too. Earth and world are not exactly synonyms, although in some contexts they work as such: they have overlapping but different meanings and I wonder whether it is significant that both are used here. To my mind, earth carries more of a sense of physical substance, the very stuff of the planet, whereas world has to do perhaps more with the people. My little bit of research bears out that this reflects the different meanings in Greek too. Earth is used to translate γῆς “ges”, derived from the world for soil and by extension the substance of the globe; world translates κόσμου “kosmou” which comes from a base word meaning “orderly arrangement" but by extension is used to refer to the moral order of the world.

For me, even though it is perhaps not the part of this text we usually focus on, I think it probably matters. I guess perhaps it struck me because I have been thinking quite a bit about what incarnation really means. It reaffirms the centrality of incarnation. We are called to a faith that is present in and of the earth and the world: our faith is to be something physical and embodied not just of the spiritual or moral realm.

The two images of salt and light also mirror this. Salt is very much a product of the physical world: a concrete noun as I would teach children in primary school: something that can be touched, held, felt. Light, meanwhile is ephemeral: something we can see and experience but can’t grasp hold of, something that literally slips through our fingers. What does to mean that our faith is made up of both of these aspects? Is it important?

There is one more thing I want to say about this pair of images. I think our, or at least my, first response to them is to think of the immediately positive associations with both salt and light: adding flavour, making visible colour and beauty… and I am certainly not questioning the validity of these aspects of what these images represent.

But they are both images that have a potentially more uncomfortable side too. Salt, rubbed in to wounds, as it would have been at the time, would be excruciatingly painful: which is not to deny it’s valid antiseptic properties … although I’m glad we have found better solutions! The use of bright or continuous light is a recognised form of torture but even without going to those extremes, we probably all have the experience of emerging into very bright light after being in darkness, which leaves us blinking and shielding our eyes.

I am convinced that being salt and light means adding colour and flavour and life and joy to those around us; but I am also convinced when there are times when being salt and light does not mean shying away from the discomfort they may bring.

I wonder how easy is it to simultaneously do and be both?

(https://faithjustice.org.uk/bible)

Finding church again

My faith is very important to me but church ... I often struggle with church.

When I first moved out from Carrs Lane, I continued to exist on the edges of it for a while before leaving completely; and actually, since long before that, running Sunday school gave me an excellent excuse to rarely have to sit through a Sunday service.

And then I walked away, and had a bit of a gap where I didn't go to church at all. But this blogpost isn't going to be about all the things I find difficult about the institutional church, of which there are many. 

Rather it is to reflect on the fact that, in some indefinable way, I missed it ... and not just for want of having something to moan about ... because frankly politics provides plenty of material for that!

There is a church a few doors away from where I live now. It is ever so slightly further than I had to travel from the flat to the church room, and I can't quite justify going in my slippers, at least not at this time of year, but I could probably roll out of bed fifteen minutes before the service starts and still make it on time.

I think partly, as I am aware I am intending to live here for the foreseeable future, I want in some way to connect to, belong in this local community and church may be one way of doing that. I think also, for all the failings of the church, I do, it turns out, sort of want to be part of a faith community.

And so, after moving in, I went along. My intention was to slip in quietly at the back, get a feel for whether it was somewhere I might want to attend, wander away again if it wasn't, perhaps try somewhere else. I took the total attendance that morning to 8. I was never going to be anonymous or unnoticed.  

In many ways it is, as you would perhaps expect or hope for a congregation that size, very informal. The chairs are in a semi-circle around the altar, I have heard the person leading ask who wants to do a reading just before the service starts, and even ask what hymn we should sing next part way through. Some of the reflections or sermons have felt very conversational in style. And yet in the midst of that informality, there is also a sense of reverence and prayerfulness which feels fitting.   

There is value in going somewhere new. It has made me think about the fact that I have definitely spent time in churches where that balance has felt the opposite (and to me at least wrong) way round: a lot of formality of styles or structures, but somehow without managing to create an atmosphere of prayerful reverence. 

I am not particularly musical: my vague attempts at learning an instrument as a child were never very successful and although I did sing in a church choir when I was younger, I'm under no illusions that they weren't exactly picky; and I know that my leading of the singing assemblies and school choir at one of the schools I taught at was far more to do with being able to command a hall full of kids with energy and enthusiasm than to do with musical ability! Lack of talent not withstanding, I do really enjoy singing with other people. Church is one of the few places, at least in my experience, where that is a thing and although I hadn't really realised I'd missed it, I was glad to be back sharing in that experience. 

The church is a joint URC / Anglican one, but the liturgy I have experienced there so far has been predominantly Anglican. It is a long time since I have regularly attended an Anglican church (and aside from my general issues with church I have plenty of specific complaints about the Church of England!) and yet I think I may have to admit to something reassuring and warm in the familiarity of words, prayers and responses which, many years later, still roll off my tongue. Perhaps, for all my recognition of the richness of the different churches which have fed me and expanded my understanding and experience of my faith over the years, I am more deeply rooted in a tradition than I care to admit.

With a congregation of about a dozen, max, there is certainly nowhere to hide, but as far as I can tell, no-one is trying to. I was greeted by a slightly shocked (but not unfriendly) sounding "you came back!" when I appeared the second time. I have been only a handful of times. There may be people I haven't met yet, but I think I have had at least a brief conversation with all those I have. Most of them know my name, I know many of theirs. I suspect most of them have known each other for years but they have drawn me into conversations and made me feel welcomed and included.

All in all, it feels like it might just suit me.

It is early days. I'm sure before long I will find plenty of things which irritate me. But for now, I am glad to be back.

Don't be scared of me

This weekend was #pray24brum, Birmingham's celebration of the week of prayer for Christian Unity, with the theme "Do Good, Seek Justice." 

At the prayer breakfast that began the second day I was one of several people asked to speak for one minute, reflecting on the theme, about my vision for the city / country / world in 2023. 

I didn't write a script, so I don't have a record of exactly what I said, and it probably wasn't entirely coherent anyway; but this is the recent encounter I reflected on and the dream it inspired ...

A couple of weeks ago I was leaving and locking up at the end of a Stories group session in the city centre. It was early evening but, being December, pitch dark. I happened to glance across at a guy who was sat on the steps nearby. As I looked across he said "don't worry, you don't need to be scared of me"

As it happens, having spent many years living in the city centre, encountering all kinds of people, I wasn't in fact, scared. I didn't glance across in fear. But I was struck by how he felt he had to engage with me. That his assumption was that my assumption would be that he was someone to be nervous of.  

It saddened me that he probably lives much of his life assuming other people are afraid or suspicious of him. And it saddened me even more that he is probably right. That many of those who glance in his direction, and let's face it, many of those exiting our church buildings, would indeed be afraid.

As a positive aside, the fact that he opened a conversation, (which I confess, I probably wouldn't have done), meant we had a brief chat that would probably otherwise not have happened, I learned a little about his life, and I now know how much he likes chocolate milk.

So back to that dream or vision of justice for the coming year ...

There's a quote that says "justice is what love looks like in public". So that implies that seeking justice is about seeking to love.

Very often, I think the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear. The bible reminds us constantly to "not be afraid". If it is there so frequently, I don't think that's because it is something easy or automatic; on the contrary, I think it is because to not be afraid is a radical act which requires choice and commitment. 

But I also think if it is there so frequently it is something that we are called to. If we are to love, if we are to seek justice then we must find ways to be less afraid. Less afraid of each other, less afraid of the world. And we must find ways to communicate that lack of fear, so that those we encounter don't assume we are afraid of them and then maybe in turn may be a little less afraid of us, too. 

So my dream, my vision, my prayer for each of us and all of us: as individuals, as communities, as a world is that we step out with a little less fear of each other and allow that to inspire the ways we live together. Love and justice will follow where our fearlessness leads.

Christmas Poem 2022

Generally, I love Christmas carols and am prepared to park my reservations about the frankly dubious theology in many of them, and sing along with more enthusiasm than talents which is, I understand, exactly how they are meant to be sung.

That doesn’t mean I am averse to picking apart the dodgy theology in between times though!

I have long taken issue with Away in a Manger: a carol doubtless loved and loathed in roughly equal measure depending on whether your general experience of children’s nativity plays gives you a warm fuzzy feeling or makes you cringe.

My own particular issue with it relates specifically to verse two, line two: “but little Lord Jesus no crying he makes”

I witnessed two babies being born this year; one cried at birth, the other didn’t. In the early days, that second baby's survival hung in the balance and he spent a number of weeks in neonatal intensive care. Thankfully he is now a healthy, happy baby … and he cries. While I am prepared to acknowledge the possibility, given the difficult circumstances of his birth, that Jesus was indeed a very poorly baby, I somehow don’t think that’s the point the carol writer was trying to make.

Aside from the very unhelpful implication that babies crying is somehow bad or sinful as opposed to just normal, healthy behaviour; my major issue with this line is it seems to want to mark Jesus out as different from expected human behaviour. Even here, in the season where we celebrate the incarnation, the docetic heresy, the one which denies the humanity of Jesus, rears its head.

I think, though it would of course be explicitly denied, in many subtle ways this ‘heresy’ is still very much present in much of our Christian thinking. While it is the idea that Jesus is “fully God” that perhaps most challenges the rational thinking parts of our brain, I wonder whether in many ways it is the idea that Jesus is “fully human” that we actually find more inherently challenging: if we mark Jesus out from babyhood as different and special, it gives us the excuse we need to shy away from his instruction to “go and do likewise”.

***

Small children played a significant part in my Christmas celebrations this year: and it was wonderful! There was lots of noise and mess and laughter. Perhaps inevitably, there was a little bit of crying at times too. It was all part of being fully human in the world.

***

All of which is a somewhat probably unnecessarily lengthy introduction to this year’s just-in-time Christmas poem:

***

The child cries

Because the child is human

And the child is hungry and wants to be fed

He cries to be nourished for the journey ahead

For the wine, and the fish and the broken bread

And the stars still look down

The child cries

Because the child is human

And the world is a confusing and scary place

He cries to seek the safety of a familiar face

From the depths of darkness, for the promise of grace

And the stars still look down

The child cries

Because the child is human

And the child wants to be noticed, and wants to be known

He cries to belong, to be wanted, to not be alone

For welcome to be offered, for love to be shown

And the stars still look down

And the child cries

Because the child is human

And the child is God.

Merry Christmas!

2022 Highlights

One of our conversations on New Year's eve evening, prior to the street erupting into slightly bonkers fireworks, was about looking back on the significant moments of the year. It didn't take long for me to realise that choosing one highlight of the year would be impossible because there was really quite a lot of competition.

Obviously, there have also been challenges along the way: I wouldn't have chosen to have my first brush with covid, there were very mixed feelings as I walked away from Carrs Lane, and it has certainly been hard at times to find signs of hope in the global and national political landscape. Plus, of course, quite a lot of mundanity in the mix too, including a constant refrain of not being as on top of admin and emails as I would ideally like to be! 

But here are a few of the things that immediately spring to mind that have been very special this year:

• The incredible privilege of being present at the births of two babies, an experience I will certainly never forget; and the ongoing privilege of watching them both grow and change, as well as becoming Godparent to one of them.  
• An absolutely amazing trip to Morocco and a wonderful wedding celebration: I know I am incredibly blessed to be invited into experiences such as these. It was also my first trip abroad for quite some time, and first time in Africa ever.
• There were also very enjoyable trips much closer to home: back to walking (part of) pilgrim cross after two years of only seeing these people in zoom squares, a lovely holiday in Wales, a beautiful 'festival of friendship' in Kintbury plus a few other trips and visits.
• A housewarming party bringing together people from all over the world and from different parts of my life. Plus lots of other gatherings, parties and cultural celebrations: these spaces where community is created and strengthened mean so much to me.
• Sharing in the news that a couple of friends who have been waiting a very, very long time were finally granted right to remain ending years of uncertainty and allowing them to get on with rebuilding their lives. There have been other good news stories I have been privileged to be part of too, most notably the little thrill every time a newly arrived child gets a school place.
• Performing with the Stories group and Welsh National Opera on the main stage at the REP to an audience of 500 school children was an incredible experience. There were other smaller performances through the year, including rounding off just before Christmas with the hilarity of panto.
• Being selected to carry the commonwealth baton, which despite my ambivalence about the commonwealth and its history, felt like quite an honour, and while I obviously don't do what I do for the recognition, I can't deny I appreciated the affirmation.
• Planned and impromptu visits from friends, some of whom I hadn't seen for a long time: after two years in which seeing friends was so severely restricted, I hope I never again take this for granted.
• Moving house (again) and settling in to a place I hope to be able to call home for the foreseeable future.

And perhaps most of all, in those times and in between times, all the many reminders that I am deeply loved and privileged to be surrounded by so many different wonderful people who are part of my life. Thank you to everyone who continues to journey with me!

2022 Reading List

When I started reading my third book of the year, I decided it might be interesting to keep a record of what I had read: and whether or not it would eventually make it to publication, the drafts folder of my blog seemed like as good a place to keep it as any. And hey now it is written, it might as well be published. So this is what I have read this year ...

Two Lives - Vikram Seth

Girl with a Pearl Earring - Tracy Chevalier

A Long Petal of the Sea - Isabel Allende

A Change of Climate - Hilary Mantel

The Pier Falls - Mark Haddon

Little Brother - Ibrahima Balde and Amets Arzallus Antia

The Turbulent Term of Tyke Tyler - Gene Kemp

Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord - Louis de Bernieres

In the Full Light of the Sun - Clare Clark

The Salt Path - Raynor Winn

The Silent Boy - Andrew Taylor

Resistance: A Songwriter's Story of Hope, Change and Courage - Tori Amos

The Wreck - Meg Kenneally

The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul - Deborah Rodriguez

Those Who are Loved - Victoria Hislop

The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro 

The Vanishing Half - Brit Bennett

The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane - Lisa See

The Wall - John Lanchester

The Humans - Matt Haig

Resistance - Anita Shreve

My Name is Why? - Lemn Sissay

The History of Bees - Maja Lunde

Circle Song - Nawal El Saadawi (from God dies by the Nile and other Stories)

The Discomfort of Evening - Marieke Lucas Rijneveld

The Echo Chamber - John Boyne

The Dictionary of Lost Words - Pip Williams

Radio Silence - Alice Oseman

Klara and the Sun -  Kazuo Ishiguro

When God was a Rabbit - Sarah Winman

The Second City Trilogy - Steven Camden

Redemption Song and Other Stories - The Caine Prize for African Writing 2018

Spanish Steps - Tim Moore

Summer - Ali Smith

The Memory of Love - Aminatta Forna

Hope in the Dark - Rebecca Solnit

The Girl in the Picture - Denise Chong

Home - Salman Rushdie

The Girl on the Train - Paula Hawkins

The Kindness of Strangers - Edited by Don George

No Friend but the Mountains - Behrouz Boochani

I have also read far too many social media posts! I sometimes wonder just how many more good books I could read if I didn't waste quite so much time on twitter ... but there you have it, my reading list for the year

And the Word was God

This week, it was my turn to lead our bible reflection. We usually reflect on the following Sunday's gospel, but, it being Christmas, I probably had a choice of readings, and it may seem strange that I opted for the prologue of John: but I love this reading. 

I love it for its mystery and complexity. I also love it because, as a lover of language and someone passionate about words, God being identified as the word deeply appeals to me. It is a text so rich and deep and complex that of course we cannot unpack it fully in a short space of time so I am just going to focus on that single word, the word.

The original Greek word in the text is logos, and I have commonly heard it said that “the word” is an over simplified translation of a word that holds much deeper meanings within it. In some ways, I would take issue with that, because I think “word” also holds complexities within it: but the point that a word from one language cannot be adequately translated into another still stands.

I remember when I first read this text in French where logos is commonly translated as “le verbe”: a small change that instantly implies something slightly different, something more active. Hearing that made me reflect on my understanding of the text. I think it would be fascinating to know how other languages translate it, and to think about how each translation might shape how we hear this reading.

The word that is God also cannot be adequately translated into our language or culture: our understanding of God is, I would argue, all the richer when we understand that all the words we use can only ever be an approximation: at its best, describing God as the word could perhaps help remind us of this: In the beginning was the untranslatable word.

Logos could, I am told also be translated as “meaning”: and again, if we put this in place in the text I think it adds another layer to how we hear and understand this text: If each Christmas we heard the familiar words: “In the beginning there was meaning” and “the meaning was made flesh”, or “the meaning was made tangible or real” would it change how we understand what John is trying to say?

Apparently the etymology of logos goes back to ‘to pick up, to collect, to gather together’. The gathering of our thoughts of our sense of meaning. Words.

Linguists have long argued about whether language describes reality or whether it creates reality and I suspect while there are probably people on both extremes, consensus is that it does something of both. The words we hear and the language we use shape our understanding of the world around us as well as being the means by which we describe our reality and experiences. There are lots of examples of the ways people speak or the different words they have access to leading to them understanding things differently. There are also plenty of examples of how language is used both unintentionally and deliberately to shape people’s thinking and their action and behaviours.

If God is the word, God is present in how we do both of these things. God as word, God as language helps us to describe and make sense of our experiences and our reality; but God as word, God as language also shapes and co-creates our reality, but perhaps in ways that are subtle and unnoticed, much the way we don’t always notice how the words we use are shaping our sense of our selves and our world.

And then sometimes, we also need to challenge the way words are used: or allow and accept them being challenged by others; and through those challenges to our language, subtle shifts occur in how we understand the world. The same is undoubtedly true of the word that is God: there are times when we also need to challenge, or allow ourselves to be challenged about the way God is used too, and allow our understanding to shift.

So perhaps, just as having access to more words allows us to better describe and make sense of and create our reality; perhaps growing and deepening our connection to God, gives us the same gift.

Next Steps

I am on the move again... because just before Christmas is an eminently sensible time to do that, right?

This time I am moving into the house which, several years ago, was bought to be entrusted to Hope Projects to house destitute asylum seekers. We always knew the gift of this space to others might, at some point, have to come to an end, and as circumstances have changed, this is the right next move. 

I would be lying if I didn't admit to having had to process some sadness that we can't continue to support Hope Projects in this way. I continue to really believe in their model of supporting people but also challenging the injustice that leave people in need of that support. I know some of those who have benefitted from living in their houses, including ours, and I know the tangible difference they make to people's lives.

But I hope and trust that the last six years of support has made a difference to the individuals, and to the organisation. I hope that perhaps something of those early news stories offered some inspiration to others, not necessarily to do the same, but to believe in the possibility of making choices that make a difference. And I hope and trust that I am continuing to make choices which, in other ways, still benefit those who are victims of the hostile environment.

I am aware that there is going to quite some adjustment to this latest move. This house has been, in some ways part of my story for a number of years and yet it has always been, intentionally, kept at arms length. Until a few weeks ago, I hadn't set foot in this house for six years. It was our house, but other people's "home". 

So now, once all the packing and moving and unpacking has been done, the next task is, in this house, to create "my home". I am sure it won't take long. I am looking forward to discovering the community that will be created, the stories that will be celebrated and the memories that will be made here, in this space.

A month in the life

A little over a year ago I wrote a post about a "typical" week in my life, or if not a typical one then at least a randomly selected specific one. It occurred to me that it might be interesting, a year or so on, to repeat the exercise, but as life is so varied, and every week so different, this time I have gone for edited highlights of "a month in the life". It's probably too long to be of interest to anyone but me, but for what it is worth, this was my November: 

Week 1: Tuesday 1st - Sunday 6th November  

Tuesday was an odds and ends jobs sort of a day including a trip to my old haunt St Chad's Sanctuary to pick up school uniform: it was nice to see a few familiar faces I hadn't caught up with for a while and I did also fit in a cup of tea in a coffee shop with a friend. Then I had back to back zooms in the evening which used to be normality but is very rare these days. Wednesday took me to London with some of the stories group for the "Lift the Ban" coalition gathering. By some minor miracle everyone arrived on time, it was a lovely but long day: extended even further by the fact that the person who told us they knew exactly where the restaurant they wanted to eat at was, and that it really wasn't far, may not have been as confident in their London geography as they thought! Thursday was another pretty busy day as I had a Birch Staff Meeting in the morning before going directly to run the Birch family drop-in, followed by another meeting, but Friday was a bit quieter with only admin to do in the morning ahead of the Stories group session which was an art workshop with Celebrating Sanctuary. It was particularly nice to see one or two people who hadn't been able to be around for a while. From there I went directly to see friends for a very lovely evening chatting and, due to the train strike that wasn't, ended up staying over. I had deliberately kept the weekend fairly empty ahead of what I knew was going to be another busy week ahead.

Week 2: Monday 7th - Sunday 13th November

Even by my standards, this week was set to be exceptionally busy. We had two school visits all day Monday and Wednesday: one in a primary school, one in a high school; one in a school who are already good friends of the Stories project, one to a school we were visiting for the first time: both went really well and I was, as ever, humbled by the incredible people I get to work alongside. From Monday's visit it was straight in to the evening Stories session where we began exploring the peculiarly British cultural phenomenon that is panto! Between the two, on Tuesday, a group of us went to Liverpool for the Churches Together in Britain and Ireland conference where we led a workshop, and contributed to the panel as well as to lots of informal conversations, and one of the group did an outstanding job of selling a box full of poetry books! Expected travel disruption meant the NACCOM conference on Thursday had moved online and while I was disappointed not to be meeting people in person, in the midst of everything else going on this week perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. It did make for a very intensive day of screen time, and by the evening I had realised I definitely should have done other things during the breaks rather than trying to fit in other computer jobs! I was back out all day on Friday, including a meeting with my supervisor for Birch, and our second art workshop with the Stories group. We were due to be going to Doncaster on Saturday but I think it was the right call to do that particular encounter by zoom instead. On Saturday evening Welsh National Opera who we had worked with last year had given us tickets to their Opera "Migrations" which was absolutely stunning as well as deeply meaningful; and a small group of us went to a classical concert at the town hall on Sunday afternoon too so a very cultured weekend! 

Week 3: Monday 14th - Sunday 20th November

This week was, at least partly by design, much quieter. It is the nature of my life and work that some weeks are exceptionally busy and that is made manageable by the balance of the weeks with a bit more space in them: both to relax, and to catch up on the much needed admin tasks. On Monday I spent several hours meeting lots of newly arrived families and collecting information for the next round of helping with accessing school places; a task which took up a good chunk of Thursday morning as well. On both Monday and Friday we were playing with panto in the Stories sessions which involved a whole lot of fun and laughter! The Birch drop-in session was quiet but did include offering some much needed emotional support to some of the mums. And on Friday I had a meeting over doughnuts and another over delicious falafel wraps which was most excellent! Tuesday and Wednesday were both days almost entirely spent at home, partly catching up on jobs that desperately needed doing but with a very relaxed rhythm. I also had a friend staying throughout throughout this week while he recovered from an operation he'd had the previous week, so it was good that I was around a bit more and I very much enjoyed his company and many good conversations. A couple of evenings other friends popped round too, to see him or me or both. Saturday was a fairly busy day with an early start for a (sadly not well attended but you can but try) coffee morning about hosting, then lunch with prospective hosts, and then I had a really lovely afternoon having been invited to the birthday party of delightful twin girls who were turning 13. After a lazy Sunday morning the week was topped off by an afternoon of comedy and a visit to the beautiful Birmingham Progressive Synagogue.

Week 4: Monday 21st - Sunday 27th November

It was a thoroughly dull, grey and wet start to the week so in a way I was glad I had a meeting on Monday afternoon that forced me to get out of the house, because even if I got rather cold and damp, on balance, I always feel better when I get out and about. Usually, the Stories group would be meeting on a Monday afternoon but our venue isn't available for a few weeks and as there are plenty of other activities to keep us occupied we are taking a break from that regular session. On Tuesday, among various other things, I was at St Chad's Cathedral for a planning meeting for the next edition of pray24brum, and having not been able to get to the last meeting, it was lovely to be back in person with this little group. There were as always, a million emails to catch up on, conversations to have, things to organise and various meetings to attend, both in person and online: including the Migration Forum meeting, a "cathedral conversations" event, a meeting with a councillor and another about school admissions. I also went to not one but two poetry / spoken word events: the wonderful Steven Camden, aka Polarbear, who we worked with last year; and one of my all-time favourite poets, Brian Bilston. Plus on Saturday we had tickets to see nativity at the REP which I very much enjoyed even if I did spend a lot of it shushing small children! In the midst of all that, probably the most significant thing to happen this week was handing in the notice on my current flat and setting things in train for my next move which, all being well, will take place just before Christmas.

Week 5: Monday 28th November - Wednesday 30th

Monday was a fairly full day of mostly school related shenanigans as I continue the process of trying to help lots of newly arrived children into school. The absolute joy and excitement of the children at the prospect was well worth the slight sense of overwhelm when I was surrounded by families! But I was glad of a walk home in the fading sunlight to clear my head. I was expecting to spend a chunk of Tuesday moving a Birch guest in with their hosts but, as can sometimes happen last minute, the need for emergency accommodation was averted, which meant I had more time for a few other jobs, including continuing the school mission, but with an intentionally slightly less busy feel to the day. I rounded off the month with a day that included a helpful conversation with the person I meet to help me to reflect on and process the many experiences and stories I hold with my friends in the Stories group, then called in briefly to Carrs Lane before a fabulous school visit in the afternoon to round off the month.

And now December awaits. Bring it on!

Do we need God?

This blog post first came about after a conversation (quite some months ago now) with a very good friend for whom I have a huge amount of respect. 

She does good things in the world. She cares about humanity. She does not have a faith.

I am not entirely sure how we got on to the topic of religion but somewhere in the mix was what I took to be a very genuine question, which went something along the lines of "what is the point of religion and do we really need God?" It is not the first time I have faced such a question: from someone else or at times even from myself. 

I had no immediately coherent answer to offer. And not only because it was late in the evening and I was tired.

She is just as capable as me of doing good in the world. According to my theology, her chances of finding herself in heaven (if it exists) are just as high as mine. I am not somehow her superior ... there is nothing about me that is better than her because I have a faith and she doesn't. I have friends of many faiths and of none who have just as much to offer to the world as I do. 

And to be honest I can find much to criticise about the role of religion in our lives, communities, world. Over the years I have cried many tears over the church and its (as I perceive them) failings.   

And yet it is no secret that my faith remains important to me. I wanted to be able to try and explain why. 

I guess I started writing this as my attempt to do so: to myself, to her, and to the world. Many weeks later, more recent conversations with another friend prompted me to try and draw my scattered thoughts together. I have struggled to do so, because the mystery I call God defies explanation and eludes description in mere words, but this is my best attempt.

It comes with multiple disclaimers. My faith and my theology have changed significantly over time so if this stands as a (slightly blurry) reflection of where I am right now; it may not sum up where I was yesterday, nor where I will be tomorrow. Nor does it reflect a set of beliefs of anyone else or any institution: my faith has been shaped by my experiences of several Christian denominations but has also been worked out through reflection, conversation and encounter so doesn't sit easily in any of the pre-designed boxes different churches present to us and I like to hope that I would be seen as mildly heretical by at least most models of church. And just in case anyone is in any doubt, my explanation or defence of my own faith does not hold within it any criticism of anyone else's journey along this very winding road we call life. 

*     *     *

Undoubtedly, part of my reason for being an adult with Christian faith is that it was the faith I was introduced to as a child. I have no recollection of a time before church was part of my life. I do, though, have fairly clear recollections of the first times church was an active choice. 

At some point as a (probably slightly precocious) primary school child, I decided I would rather go to church than to Sunday school: I have no idea, now, what drew me to sit through the probably fairly dull church services instead of doing colouring in ... these days, I much prefer Sunday School! More significantly, when I was in my early teens, my parents stopped going to church. It was no longer something we were expected to do as part of our weekly routine as a family. If I wanted to be part of this thing, it became my own responsibility. I sometimes joke that going to church was my teenage rebellion. As my faith has developed and I have understood more about who I believe Jesus to be, I have realised maybe it wasn't as much of a joke as I thought.

My faith today is unrecognisable from the nascent faith I had then: my journey has taken me far from what I would probably describe as "dull, bog-standard Anglicanism" and the church which was such a haven for my fourteen-year-old-self would undoubtedly now be a place which I would find intensely frustrating ...  but the essence of perhaps the most significant aspect of why my faith still matters does seemingly date to those days, though I certainly wouldn't have articulated it thus at the time. 

I was an unhappy teenager. At home, though I never questioned the love of my family, I carried a deep resentment about being moved away from a place where I had convinced myself I'd have been happier; and school was a fairly miserable experience where I was torn between the desperate desire to fit in and the desperate desire to be true to the person I was who didn't. And then there were hormones and the general unease that probably afflicts all teenagers as they grow out of being children long before they grow into being adults.

Church gave me the incredibly precious gift of being a place where I didn't have to "fit in" in order to belong and a place where somewhere deep within I felt like I had inherent value, just as I was. I associated church, and therefore God, as a place of safety and acceptance. I have changed a lot since those days, as has my faith, but I still deeply believe that, at its best, an experience of God is an experience of learning that you can belong and have value and be loved, just the way you are.

*     *     *

The world can be a very dark place. Throughout history, and in the world we now inhabit, we can scarcely fail to notice the destructive capacity of humanity: the myriad ways in which people can commit acts of utter evil against each other, and even against ourselves. All too often there can seem to be so much to make us angry and so little in the world that inspires hope.

We have put our planet on a collision course for climate catastrophe. Dictatorial regimes and human rights abuses abound. Conflicts are proliferating. Far-right ideologies are increasingly unchecked and accepted in the mainstream. The rich and powerful continue their love affair with an economic system which thrives on an ever widening divide between the haves and have nots.

Many of the core messages which surround us, both the explicit and the implied are ones which want us to believe that the only thing that matters is looking out for ourselves and our own interests, or, potentially, by extension, those perceived as belonging to our group or sharing our identity. They are messages which tell us the pursuit of material wealth is the route to happiness, that we will find our worth in what we possess. They are messages which tell us the weakest and most vulnerable are at best, not our problem or responsibility, and at worst to be cast as scapegoats, blamed for a variety of social ills and subjected to further suffering. They are messages seeking to divide, telling us to fear or to hate those who are in any way different to ourselves.

Social pressure of this sort is insidious and, whatever we tell ourselves, nigh on impossible to entirely resist. We are products of the societies that form us. 

I do not want to believe this is all there is to the world. And for me it is God and the message of the gospels that allows me to hope in an alternative. I fear that without that sense of the divine, that sense of something beyond ourselves, I might just lose hope.

Faith is what gives me the strength to, however imperfectly, stand up as best I can to the rhetoric the world wants us to believe and to try to stand for something different. 

Faith is what makes me trust that, even when it doesn't feel like it, "the arc of the universe bends towards justice" (MLK)

Faith is what constantly reminds me that no human has any less worth or value than any other, that reminds me to stretch out a hand in warmth and welcome to the "other", because they are, as I am, loved and worthy of love. 

Faith is that which which ensures and assures me that good is possible. 

*     *     *

For many years my life has involved a routine of prayer and specifically, times of silence integrated into my day. I struggle to articulate how or why but I remain completely convinced my life would look different without it. It is my space to be reminded, or to remind myself of the possibility of joy, hope, goodness and unconditional love even when they seem so far from the reality every time we switch on the news. I believe those reminders come from somewhere beyond myself.

The essence of my faith remains that God is and only can be love and nothing we do, nothing we are can exclude us from that unconditional love. The essence of my faith remains that, created in the image of God, we are called into the experience of love and called to offer it onwards and outwards to others. The essence of my faith is that we exist to love and to be loved. 

Others perhaps have a different explanation, but for me, my way of making sense of the world and holding on to the possibility of hope, is the existence of a mystery I choose to call God; a God who is and only can be love, a God who ensures there is always a force for good in the world, a God who flares or who flickers in the darkest of places. A God from whom I acknowledge religions, as much as the wider world, have ofttimes turned away. 

I don't think having a faith in God has made my life any easier: nor should it: there is plenty of challenge inherent in the gospels. But I think it has been one of the ways in which I have discovered a deep joy that exists despite, beyond and in the midst of the world with all its broken beauty. 

So back to those conversations with friends that inspired me to write this ... 

Does she need God? Does he? I don't know and it is not for me to say. 

But do I need God? ... Yes, I think I do.

What I have learned

It is just over a year since I signed the contract on this flat (the anniversary was Wednesday), and slightly less since I moved in. This has been the first time for a very long time I have lived alone; the only other time being my year abroad from university when I lived in a school in France. 

As I look back on the past year (and prepare to move on again), I have been reflecting on some of the things I have discovered and learned. Here are a few snippets from those thoughts:

• It will come as no surprise to anyone, least of all me that I am still very much a people person. I love spending time with other people; both in group settings and one-to-one with friends. I love the fact that I have so many different, wonderful people in my life; and community and belonging are definitely important to me. Much of my people time is in other places, and I love hosting guests here too. But having my own space does, it turns out, also really suit me: I do also enjoy my own company and in between my very peopled existence, I have been very much appreciating time spent alone.
• My life is rich in variety and no two days are the same, which is exactly the way I want it to be. Having said that, I have found that having some elements of routine or structure in life do matter ... and so is the flexibility to bend or break those routines when necessary. I appreciate the fixed points, both external and self-imposed around which my life is organised. As a rule, I have intentionally kept the weekends having a distinct and different feel to them to weekdays too which feels like it is probably important.
• Before moving to Birmingham all those years ago, I was very unsure about how much I would enjoy life at the heart of a busy city: it turned out that I did, very much. It became my normality, and moving out into a residential area has been a reminder of some of the ways it was quite a distinctive place to live and things I was missing there: little things, mostly: such as having easy access to a proper supermarket that isn't just set up for convenience foods, and just the very different feel to the streets I walk around.
• Another significant change from being in the city centre revolves around transport and I acknowledge having lost a level of convenience on that front: many of my activities still take place in the city centre or now involve significantly more travel. It has meant some earlier starts, more time at bus stops and sometimes finding myself with time to kill between activities when I previously would have nipped home but it isn't worth coming back here. But I have also learned that you can get used to most things fairly quickly and I have adapted to this now just being the reality: I rarely find myself comparing it to an alternative.
• I've let myself know that it is ok to resort to 'stick something in the oven' convenience foods some of the time, and I've found batch cooking is a must since living by myself. It's also nice to have visitors which can be a prompt to make more effort ... but sometimes it is also nice to put in lots of effort to cook a really nice meal, just for yourself. 
• I am aware I am extremely privileged with the amount of space I have to myself here. Having my bedroom as a space distinct from my living and working space is definitely a gift I have come to appreciate. Admittedly, I haven't entirely kept technology out as I do still take my phone (maybe that's a next step!) but I have never taken my laptop in, nor many other things, and I have recognised the benefits of generally keeping my sleeping space distinct from the rest of life.
• One of the things I think others, perhaps more than me although I too sensed the risk, thought when I moved here was that I might not be able to switch off from work and the things that keep me busy. But while it does remain true that I lead a very busy life, and yes, I do occasionally have moments of being utterly overwhelmed and feeling like I am not on top of everything I need or want to do; actually, I have, I think quite effectively been able to build down time into my life. And if some of that is meaningless time wasting by scrolling through social media and the like, it has also included reading plenty of books, spending time with friends, arts and crafts, taking advantage of having green space at the end of the road, and plenty of other ways to relax.

I'm sure there are plenty of other things I could say, but those are my disparate thoughts at this particular point in time. 

Re-establishing a routine of prayer

For the past nine years, the life of the Carrs Lane Lived Community revolved around a rhythm of daily prayer. There was, over that time, some tinkering at the edges, and yes, there were holiday breaks in the routine but it, and my commitment to it, remained fundamentally unchanged. 

The strict rhythms of prayer at Carrs Lane, and the unwavering commitment to public, open prayer did exert certain limitations; but while there were odd occasions when that felt restrictive, over all, the immovability felt like a positive. Prayer didn't need to be thought about or negotiated. Prayer just was.

With the drawing to an end of the life of the community, I have had to rethink what prayer looks like now and how it slots back into my life and routines. I can't always effectively articulate why, but I know making space for prayer in my life is important to me. I know that it has a positive impact on how I feel and that more becomes possible because of it. 

This is not about compartmentalising prayer away from the rest of my life. There are plenty of other parts of my life which feel prayerful, which feel like places where I encounter God, but I recognise the value I find in this conscious carving out of time to pause and be present.

I am lucky that where I live now I have still been able to create a dedicated space for prayer. I know, for me, having sacred space, makes a difference to my ability to focus: putting my body in a prayerful space helps me put my head and heart there too. 

I like thoughtful, creative ways of praying which have taken effort and energy to pull together. But I also know that for a regular routine of prayer I need something that requires little preparation, thought or energy, which can be slotted in easily and not feel like a burden. Something simple enough that I can do it even when I am not in the mood. Something which creates a space where I can consciously put myself in the presence of God and simply be.

I played around with a few things at the beginning of September and think I have found a model that is working, for now at least. Mostly, then, this is how I am now starting my days: with a cup of tea and a short time of prayer. Some days, if I haven't started the day with it, I fit it in later, some days, it doesn't happen at all. While definitely a less strict routine than the one I followed at Carrs Lane it feels like I am establishing enough of a routine for it to become part of life in the way I want and need it to be.

After playing a song or two (on Spotify, I haven't suddenly developed musical talent or anything), I've been reading one psam a day, starting from the beginning (a very good place to start). Even though I am praying alone, I have been reading them out loud ... words definitely resonate differently read aloud. I have also read each in two different translations (a stark reminder, if one were needed that even the very words of our biblical texts are an interpretation, before we even start on everything else about them that needs interpreting, but I digress). I've then been choosing and copying out one verse (or part of a verse, or occasionally a couple of verses) Laying out the words on the page, tracing back over letters already written is proving, as much if not more than the words themselves, a form of meditative reflection.

I don't, honestly, think this is going to be what I do for the the next nine years, but for now, for me, it works. 

Autumn days

A place in the Kindom of God

A couple of weeks ago, in a prayer book I came across a prayer which included the words "The Kindom of God". I don't remember anything else about what the prayer was about. Just that phrase from it.

I suspected, if I was honest, it may have been a typo (although have since been assured it wasn't and was entirely intended), but the term immediately struck me and stuck with me. I instantly knew I liked it as an alternative to the "Kingdom of God" a term with which I am deeply familiar but not entirely comfortable, both because of its gendering of God and of its association with authoritarianism, wealth and privilege ... none of which sits easily with my image of the kind of society God is calling us towards.

For me "kindom of God" implies humanity united across all its various divides as one family, drawn into oneness by love and by a mystery greater than and beyond ourselves and our understanding ... and as such sums up much of what I believe about what my faith calls me towards.

A quick google search showed me that others are already exploring using the term, but the squiggly red line beneath it here indicates it has not yet found a place in common parlance. It was new to me, gave me pause for thought, and is a word I will definitely be adding to my vocabulary for trying to make sense of the mystery of God, and so for what it worth, I am sharing it here to remind myself, and in case others find it helpful too.

September Haikus

Apparently genuine Haiku, as well as the 17-syllable pattern, are supposed to have a “seasonal reference”. Well, September feels like a good time to try that out. Each of these attempts to be loosely inspired by something of my days this month, coupled with this idea of seasonal references.

I’m not very good at “short” so this proved to be quite a test with my main discovery being that Haiku definitely aren’t as easy as I thought.

Still, for what they’re worth, here they are…

1st
Some things stay the same
But so much is different now
A new year begins

2nd
Went out. Brought no coat
It starts to rain. But the sky
Is still beautiful.

3rd
It had been a while.
Perhaps that’s why I barely
Noticed the weather

4th
Children laugh and play
Together to celebrate
Dodging the raindrops

5th
Music, colour, light
Invite us to look up as
Day fades into night

6th
Waking to the sound
Of rain drumming on rooftops
And against windows

7th
Sometimes low rumbles
Of thunder instil more fear
Than a sudden CRASH

8th
Glowering skies spill rain
As the sun breaks through, I watch,
Waiting for rainbows

9th
Media subdued
And politics strangely calmed
But the world still turns

10th
Autumn approaches
But for now, most leaves are still
Different shades of green

11th
The sound of autumn
Leaves rustle on trees then fall
To crunch underfoot

12th
The sky was bright with
A sunrise glow, so the rain
Took me by surprise

13th
I wish it didn’t
Feel noteworthy, going out
Not bringing my phone

14th
Heart and mind, filled with
Memories of summertime
As the nights draw in

15th
The sun hangs low in
A deep’ning blue sky and the
Clouds are tinged with gold

16th
The sky is bright blue
But the chilled edge to the air
Says autumn is near

17th
The trees stand tall as
The sun sinks through the blue sky
Casting long shadows

18th
Far from home I see
Dark clouds gather, threat’ning rain
Somehow, it stayed dry

19th
Words can’t really catch
How many colours we mean
When we just say grey

20th
Walking in sunlight
In the midst of busy days
Grateful for this gift

21st
From tiny acorns
Mighty oak trees grow … unless
Squirrels get there first

22nd
Autumn equinox
The earth hangs, finely balanced
Between dark and light

23rd
There’s a special warmth
That’s found among friends in front
Of an open fire

24th
Green on the doorstep
In perfect walking weather
The best of autumn

25th
Friends and family
In these fleeting reunions
Together again

26th
Dark fades toward light
As hidden behind the clouds
The sun still rises

27th
Ah, English weather

Bright sun, cold rain, gusts of wind

Four seasons, each day

28th
I thought I might put
The heating on but went for
A jumper instead

29th
Nothing says autumn
Quite like shiny conkers hidden
Among crunchy leaves

30th

No cup of tea tastes
Better than one when you’ve just
Come in from the rain

Breadcrumbs 2022

Over the past week, for the third year in a row, I have completed the Art2Life "breadcrumbs challenge". The first time I wrote about it here, and the second got a mention in this post. Each year it has proved a helpful interlude in helping me rediscover a creative spark and make some space in my schedule for playing with colour.

Each day builds towards the creation of a "creative compass", through prompts and questions which have been the same each year. It has been interesting to see both the similarities and the differences in my responses each time and in the art I have created. Without wanting to overstate the significance, my three completed compasses stand as witness to some of what has changed for me over the past three autumns, and some of what has stood the test of those changes to be very much still part of who I am.

The course is based not on learning new art skills but on connecting to your inner artist. The basic premise is that if we connect to the deepest part of ourselves, our souls; if we give ourselves permission to be free, to play, to do more of what we love; we will be the best version of our creative selves. It is, perhaps, a lesson for life as much as for art.  

The final livestream ended with one of my (current) favourite quotes:

End of an era

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.