Yesterday was a looong day which began at 7.30 with Morning Prayer before the 8.00 Eucharist, and ended in the pub after some wonderful peace, space and inspiration thanks to The Fountain. As we stood in warm darkness round the altar, where bread was broken and shared (take some bread and give it to someone you don't know well...or several people....receive as much as you are offered...no limits....) the staggering reality of it all nearly overwhelmed me. I'd spent much of the day assisting at the Eucharist, together with a battery of servers, with bells rung, candles elevated and beautiful settings of the Agnus Dei,- but while we shared that loaf it seemed to me that all that had gone before was an elaborate way of ensuring that we kept our distance. In our liturgy, the `Prayer of Humble Access' ("We do not presume to come to this your table...") is the last prayer of the congregation before they come to receive the bread and wine. It's a good prayer, but its current position, immediately after the invitation to Communion "Draw near with faith", always feels like an additional stalling device. I imagine the Lord, tapping his fingers a tad impatiently, thinking to himself "I've told them to come to me....why don't they just come?"....and it hit me last night that all the ritual with which we surround that moment of receiving God in bread and wine has something of the same stalling quality.
I was blown away by the immediacy of our Communion with God and with each other at The Fountain....no fuss...we were invited to share, to partake, and we did.
Yesterday the Church remembered George Herbert (whose poetry was the subject of my never completed PhD) and as I drove home from Gloucester I realised that in the course of the day I'dbeen living through possibly his greatest poem,Love (iii)
"So I did sit and eat"
Monday, February 28, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
I think we've missed something...
I've just been listening, in a desultory, day-off sort of way, to Women's Hour, where they were having a phone- in on loneliness. Nothing too startling there, perhaps, with all those familiar statistics telling us that more people now live alone than ever before. All sorts of perspectives were represented, with a groundswell of opinion that it wasn't always helpful to be offered companionship solely through networks of those in a similar position . Young mums were adamant that the toddler group wasn't always the answer, while pensioners lamented the narrow client-base of the groups offered to them. One lady suggested that the local council could promote situations in which people were able to encounter diverse ages and backgrounds, to offer mutual companionship and support.
'Sounds like the church', I thought to myself....but neither callers nor "experts" so much as hinted that this might be an issue that the church could engage with. Not even a nod in our direction. That hurt, really....and made me think, too, about how we square the circle of creating an inclusive community while embracing the insights about network society that are so much on the agenda for us. No conclusions, just sadness that we are so clearly missing the mark and failing to reach out even where there is a perceived need.
'Sounds like the church', I thought to myself....but neither callers nor "experts" so much as hinted that this might be an issue that the church could engage with. Not even a nod in our direction. That hurt, really....and made me think, too, about how we square the circle of creating an inclusive community while embracing the insights about network society that are so much on the agenda for us. No conclusions, just sadness that we are so clearly missing the mark and failing to reach out even where there is a perceived need.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Into the Wilderness
Right, all you kind souls who've been enquiring as to the success or otherwise of "Into the Wilderness".
In the cold light of dawn, having swept up sand from all sorts of unlikely places and surveyed the damage that one carefree teenager can wreak with a taper injudiciously applied to a length of sari fabric, I can nonetheless record that on balance it was a Good Thing :-)
There follows more information than any of you will either need or want...but it's good for me to review it aloud, so here goes. Feel no obligation to read on!
The church adapted itself beautifully to this new phenomenon...I was really pleased with the way the lighting worked, with the uplights on their dimmest setting and pools of candlelight at many of the stations. The meditations music from Late Late Service Deep Peace CD was absolutely right, and stilled almost everyone instantly.
I never got round the whole trail myself, but had a pretty good time just sitting by the door, with it all unfolding gently around me.
Due to time constraints and the size of the Youth Group, we had to start people off in groups of 4 and despite suggestions that they might prefer to alter the order of stations, provided they remained within the same zone (there were 3; the inward journey; encounter with God and the journey out) they seemed rather intent on clumping together to start with at least.
We used the font for a "letting go" meditation at the very beginning and one rather lovely thing that happened was that people started using the water the cross on each other's foreheads before they moved on...pilgrimage is a group activity.
Some stations held them for ages. One, "Shaping", involved reading lines from ps 139 and then using clay to respond to them. EVERYONE spent ages with this and even those who'd been rushing round at top speed seemed to become still as they worked here
They moved on from this to holy space...bread and grape juice set out on a tablecloth just inside the altar rails, with beanbags and suggestions that they just chill and be with God; again something I'd not envisaged happened...because they tended to arrive there in twos, though they weren't talking, some groups gave each other the bread. It felt as if some powerful stuff was going on here.
All of them had a very positive response to the "Impressions" station (that's right, the one for which I need the sandpit and the not-so-dry sand) .and the buried treasure scrolls seemed to strike a chord too.
Initial feedback suggests that even those who mostly whizzed along the trail say they got something out of the experience...and two or three specifically came to find me and tell me that they'd found it helpful. (I do have the Visitor's Book...but feel rather that I shouldn't be reading that, since most of the comments are addressed to God).
So...all in all...
YES
:-)
Would I do it again?
Another "Yes". In fact I'm hoping to use much of the same material, plus some specific Passion tide material, in the week leading up to Palm Sunday. (If anyone has any bright ideas of how I could somehow combine alt.worship with traditional Stations of the Cross, I could do it in Holy Week itself....but at the moment that looks rather a daunting impossibility...).
But it was, as all you alt.worship gurus know, a very labour-intensive activity, which I would really have struggled with if my family had not been on half term and feeling obliging. At the moment I cant see anyone in the congregation who looks a likely ally for future creations, so they'll have to be very thinly scattered through the year, unless that changes.
It was a water-shed for me, as I've really struggled with the building's limitations since arriving here, but last night I saw the whole thing differently...but then, transformation is rather the point of the exercise, I think.
In the cold light of dawn, having swept up sand from all sorts of unlikely places and surveyed the damage that one carefree teenager can wreak with a taper injudiciously applied to a length of sari fabric, I can nonetheless record that on balance it was a Good Thing :-)
There follows more information than any of you will either need or want...but it's good for me to review it aloud, so here goes. Feel no obligation to read on!
The church adapted itself beautifully to this new phenomenon...I was really pleased with the way the lighting worked, with the uplights on their dimmest setting and pools of candlelight at many of the stations. The meditations music from Late Late Service Deep Peace CD was absolutely right, and stilled almost everyone instantly.
I never got round the whole trail myself, but had a pretty good time just sitting by the door, with it all unfolding gently around me.
Due to time constraints and the size of the Youth Group, we had to start people off in groups of 4 and despite suggestions that they might prefer to alter the order of stations, provided they remained within the same zone (there were 3; the inward journey; encounter with God and the journey out) they seemed rather intent on clumping together to start with at least.
We used the font for a "letting go" meditation at the very beginning and one rather lovely thing that happened was that people started using the water the cross on each other's foreheads before they moved on...pilgrimage is a group activity.
Some stations held them for ages. One, "Shaping", involved reading lines from ps 139 and then using clay to respond to them. EVERYONE spent ages with this and even those who'd been rushing round at top speed seemed to become still as they worked here
They moved on from this to holy space...bread and grape juice set out on a tablecloth just inside the altar rails, with beanbags and suggestions that they just chill and be with God; again something I'd not envisaged happened...because they tended to arrive there in twos, though they weren't talking, some groups gave each other the bread. It felt as if some powerful stuff was going on here.
All of them had a very positive response to the "Impressions" station (that's right, the one for which I need the sandpit and the not-so-dry sand) .and the buried treasure scrolls seemed to strike a chord too.
Initial feedback suggests that even those who mostly whizzed along the trail say they got something out of the experience...and two or three specifically came to find me and tell me that they'd found it helpful. (I do have the Visitor's Book...but feel rather that I shouldn't be reading that, since most of the comments are addressed to God).
So...all in all...
YES
:-)
Would I do it again?
Another "Yes". In fact I'm hoping to use much of the same material, plus some specific Passion tide material, in the week leading up to Palm Sunday. (If anyone has any bright ideas of how I could somehow combine alt.worship with traditional Stations of the Cross, I could do it in Holy Week itself....but at the moment that looks rather a daunting impossibility...).
But it was, as all you alt.worship gurus know, a very labour-intensive activity, which I would really have struggled with if my family had not been on half term and feeling obliging. At the moment I cant see anyone in the congregation who looks a likely ally for future creations, so they'll have to be very thinly scattered through the year, unless that changes.
It was a water-shed for me, as I've really struggled with the building's limitations since arriving here, but last night I saw the whole thing differently...but then, transformation is rather the point of the exercise, I think.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
You have to laugh...
No doubt seasoned alt. worshippers could have warned me about this, but I'm sure I didn't ignore a crucial para in the books nor even among jonny's worship tricks. Yesterday I purchased, from a local toy shop, two small but adequate plastic sacks of sand. I kind of assumed they contained sand, as it said on the label...instead of which, when I opened them this afternoon (thankfully I was being atypically prompt in my preparations)there seemed to be a glutinous sand-based mud. Several pints of water, definitely.
This was fine for the "Making an Impression" station....but less satisfactory for the "promises in the sand" one, where I was burying dozens of little scrolls with bits of Scripture written on them. So......
Husband, son and curate spent much of the afternoon wielding hair dryers, ovens, gas rings and any additional forms of heating/drying we could think of in a desperate attempt to dessicate the sand sufficiently for my purposes. The boys were still at it when I left for Evensong...
If son were not now in bed, sleeping the sleep of the righteous sand-dryer, I would be able to post photographic evidence of this. Maybe tomorrow...when I might tell you all about "Into the Wilderness" too.
This was fine for the "Making an Impression" station....but less satisfactory for the "promises in the sand" one, where I was burying dozens of little scrolls with bits of Scripture written on them. So......
Husband, son and curate spent much of the afternoon wielding hair dryers, ovens, gas rings and any additional forms of heating/drying we could think of in a desperate attempt to dessicate the sand sufficiently for my purposes. The boys were still at it when I left for Evensong...
If son were not now in bed, sleeping the sleep of the righteous sand-dryer, I would be able to post photographic evidence of this. Maybe tomorrow...when I might tell you all about "Into the Wilderness" too.
Surprised by joy...
Not a reference to dearly beloved C.S. Lewis, great though he is, but to my experience as Deacon at the Eucharist this morning. As usual I read the Gospel, which in my current context involves a procession, assorted acolytes, crucifers and book-bearers. The accompanying anxiety at getting from A to B without falling over any of them meant that I was well into the story of Nicodemus from John 3 when I realised that, instead of ending at the end of the page the reading continued overleaf..up to, and indeed beyond, verse 16.
To stand there in the middle of the assembly of God's people and speak those words aloud was the most mind-blowing privilege..the words were so real that they almost burned on the page and I was allowed to share them with others.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him should not die but have everlasting life."
Thanks be to God, indeed.
To stand there in the middle of the assembly of God's people and speak those words aloud was the most mind-blowing privilege..the words were so real that they almost burned on the page and I was allowed to share them with others.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him should not die but have everlasting life."
Thanks be to God, indeed.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Serendipity?
Yesterday evening my husband came home with a sandpit...yes, a sandpit ...which he'd spotted on a skip while visiting a customer. Even I had to concede that this was little short of a miracle. I even managed to be nice to him for at least an hour afterwards.
The reason for my joy?
Now I have something in which footmarks can be left on Sunday evening.
Did anyone claim that God doesn't take care of details? :-)
The reason for my joy?
Now I have something in which footmarks can be left on Sunday evening.
Did anyone claim that God doesn't take care of details? :-)
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Curate's Surprise!
No..not a new kind of cocktail, nor even an ice-cream sundae, but the heading for this week's session with the Youth Group. A long long time ago, I apparently agreed to provide some sort of game/activity/think spot for this coming Sunday...the surprise element, I imagine, was not intended to reflect my degree of preparedness for this, but, as is the way of things, a little ambiguity spices up the mixture.
Faced last Sunday with the realisation that it was coming up next week (how on earth did that happen??) I went into free-fall panic mode and then decided that this must be the moment to try a teeny weeny bit of an experiment.
So...the Curate's Surprise will be "Into the desert: a interactive Prayer Trail for Lent" (not a labyrinth in the end...no space to lay one out, due to overabundance of our blessed pews, and insufficient time to do so anyway, as I can't begin till the last soul has left after Evensong). To-day's surprise is how very rewarding I've found it trawling through resources (where would anyone be without jonny or sue ?), planning and praying till it feels as if I've something that God wants to use with those teens. Those of you well-versed in alt.worship would be totally underwhelmed by the whole thing, but this will be my first attempt at putting something like this together and it will certainly be an unknown quantity for most of the community here. Many of the youth group are largely there for the football... Prayers for Sunday evening would be much appreciated.
Faced last Sunday with the realisation that it was coming up next week (how on earth did that happen??) I went into free-fall panic mode and then decided that this must be the moment to try a teeny weeny bit of an experiment.
So...the Curate's Surprise will be "Into the desert: a interactive Prayer Trail for Lent" (not a labyrinth in the end...no space to lay one out, due to overabundance of our blessed pews, and insufficient time to do so anyway, as I can't begin till the last soul has left after Evensong). To-day's surprise is how very rewarding I've found it trawling through resources (where would anyone be without jonny or sue ?), planning and praying till it feels as if I've something that God wants to use with those teens. Those of you well-versed in alt.worship would be totally underwhelmed by the whole thing, but this will be my first attempt at putting something like this together and it will certainly be an unknown quantity for most of the community here. Many of the youth group are largely there for the football... Prayers for Sunday evening would be much appreciated.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
The CME wasn't all wasted...
Thanks to Ian for this, which feels scarily close to the likely reaction of most of the people here. You think I'm joking??
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Can't win em all
Clearly God knew what He was doing when He sent me that little boy this morning.
This evening featured my monthly session at the local care home where most of the residents have kind of lost track of who they are, and most other things too. I thought it was going really well. We sang a hymn, heard a reading, prayed a bit, I wittered about Lent, we prayed and sang some more,= including Amazing Grace...three times...by request.
Finally, after another prayer or two I suggested we close with the Grace, which we did.
In the silence afterwards a voice from the corner piped up
"So, are we having a service tonight then?"
This evening featured my monthly session at the local care home where most of the residents have kind of lost track of who they are, and most other things too. I thought it was going really well. We sang a hymn, heard a reading, prayed a bit, I wittered about Lent, we prayed and sang some more,= including Amazing Grace...three times...by request.
Finally, after another prayer or two I suggested we close with the Grace, which we did.
In the silence afterwards a voice from the corner piped up
"So, are we having a service tonight then?"
One of those moments ...
.... when you know for sure why you are doing this job.
Curate to small boy at altar rail
"May Jesus bless you today and every day. He loves you very much."
Small boy with the sort of smile that lights up a whole week
"I KNOW".
Was I ever under the misapprehension that I was the one doing the ministering??
Curate to small boy at altar rail
"May Jesus bless you today and every day. He loves you very much."
Small boy with the sort of smile that lights up a whole week
"I KNOW".
Was I ever under the misapprehension that I was the one doing the ministering??
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Dust and ashes
Every so often, liturgy really seems to get it right and achieve what it describes....This evening I heard again and again "Remember, you are dust and to dust you shall return.Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ" and the effect was inescapably humbling. Saying those same words to my much-loved boss, I felt as if I was somehow passing sentence upon him...which was both weird, uncomfortable and deeply moving,- though of course the whole point of the service is that the sentence is common to all humanity.
Then, the solemn effect was rather ruined. I had been warned that this year's ash was "tricky"(clearly the sacristan did need Tom's recipe :-) ) and that I would need to apply it with some force if I wanted to achieve a visible cross at all. I followed this advice, so for the rest of the service, poor M looked as if he'd had a target painted on to his forehead with creosote. I may only have had to ash him this year, but by gum I ashed him well and truly...No half hearted little smudges here. He was branded, poor man...
Still not sure what I'm trying by way of Lenten discipline, which doesn't auger well...but am seriously considering trying to give up guilt for Lent, in line with Rhys wonderful 10 Commandments. I've been inspired to read Stephen Cottrell's Lent book from last year I thirst
and there are one or two others about the place that I would really like to get into as the weeks go by,- but the big one is prayer, and for that my strategies are rather lacking... Giving it a sensible portion of time is at least a starting point, so start I shall.
Then, the solemn effect was rather ruined. I had been warned that this year's ash was "tricky"(clearly the sacristan did need Tom's recipe :-) ) and that I would need to apply it with some force if I wanted to achieve a visible cross at all. I followed this advice, so for the rest of the service, poor M looked as if he'd had a target painted on to his forehead with creosote. I may only have had to ash him this year, but by gum I ashed him well and truly...No half hearted little smudges here. He was branded, poor man...
Still not sure what I'm trying by way of Lenten discipline, which doesn't auger well...but am seriously considering trying to give up guilt for Lent, in line with Rhys wonderful 10 Commandments. I've been inspired to read Stephen Cottrell's Lent book from last year I thirst
and there are one or two others about the place that I would really like to get into as the weeks go by,- but the big one is prayer, and for that my strategies are rather lacking... Giving it a sensible portion of time is at least a starting point, so start I shall.
Wise advice.
I spent yesterday, along with many others, at a pre-Lent Quiet Day in the Cathedral, led by +Stephen Cottrell....His theme "A Pastoral Letter to Myself" had emerged from a "build a better bishop" course which he and our diocesan had recently undergone, as part of their first year induction training. Among many gems, the mantra I came back with was
"Make time for prayer, make time for sleep and then do what you can."
On the verge of what looks to be a rather frantic season, I hope to hang onto this...and am grateful to the noble three who turned out this morning to give meaning to the Bishop's vision of churches open for prayer and people praying together this Lent.
"Make time for prayer, make time for sleep and then do what you can."
On the verge of what looks to be a rather frantic season, I hope to hang onto this...and am grateful to the noble three who turned out this morning to give meaning to the Bishop's vision of churches open for prayer and people praying together this Lent.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Sorted!
In my comments box below, Tom penned these words, which I find so very helpful that I thought I'd put them up in lights...
"We need constantly to remind ourselves that we are sharing Christ's peace and not our own meagre human peace. So I have found myself saying to people - well at least offer it, even if that isn't quite where your heart is at the moment - but equally understanding when people find that impossible"
From my point of view, this gives me something I really feel I can work with. It's so horribly easy to be aware of the human perspectives in worship to the near-exclusion of the divine....but it's not about us, is it?
"We need constantly to remind ourselves that we are sharing Christ's peace and not our own meagre human peace. So I have found myself saying to people - well at least offer it, even if that isn't quite where your heart is at the moment - but equally understanding when people find that impossible"
From my point of view, this gives me something I really feel I can work with. It's so horribly easy to be aware of the human perspectives in worship to the near-exclusion of the divine....but it's not about us, is it?
Thursday, February 03, 2005
The dilemma continues
In his comment on passing the Peace below Dave said "sometimes actions have to lead meanings" which set me off wondering how one balances this kind of aspirational behaviour with the need to be honest in our relationships. Could one call tooth-clenched peace-passing hypocrisy, if there is a deep mismatch between feelings and actions?
Certainly I tend to work on Dave's basis (as I've interpreted it...sorry if I read you wrong, Dave) in most things, and try madly to behave lovingly to those whom, frankly, I struggle to like. Sometimes this backfires massively as people assume that I'm their dearest friend and I then find myself taking panicky evasive action for months...but sometimes, though not often enough, it seems to work and to effect the change in me that I aspire to. One of the early Fathers wrote something like
"Not what thou art, nor what thou hast been, but what thou wouldst be beholdest God in his mercy" (prize to anyone who can tell me who and where...I just can't find it)
which would seem to suggest that if we want to live in love and peace with all, but aren't quite managing it on a daily basis, God will honour the intention. On the other hand, there's some rather uncomfortable stuff about whitewashed tombs about the place too. Oh heck. On the whole, perhaps it's just as well that I'm not in the parish this Sunday; perhaps I'll have resolved this before I next have to do any Peace-passing!
Certainly I tend to work on Dave's basis (as I've interpreted it...sorry if I read you wrong, Dave) in most things, and try madly to behave lovingly to those whom, frankly, I struggle to like. Sometimes this backfires massively as people assume that I'm their dearest friend and I then find myself taking panicky evasive action for months...but sometimes, though not often enough, it seems to work and to effect the change in me that I aspire to. One of the early Fathers wrote something like
"Not what thou art, nor what thou hast been, but what thou wouldst be beholdest God in his mercy" (prize to anyone who can tell me who and where...I just can't find it)
which would seem to suggest that if we want to live in love and peace with all, but aren't quite managing it on a daily basis, God will honour the intention. On the other hand, there's some rather uncomfortable stuff about whitewashed tombs about the place too. Oh heck. On the whole, perhaps it's just as well that I'm not in the parish this Sunday; perhaps I'll have resolved this before I next have to do any Peace-passing!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Peace at any price?
A good friend whose integrity and conscience I hold in high esteem has been distinctly "off" God lately and blogged recently on the impossibility of offering the Peace honestly while struggling with a particular relationship at work..For her this had become such a huge issue that it dominated the entire service in a thoroughly unhelpful way. It struck me as distinctly ironic that she, while claiming no Christian allegiance at present, is so much more scrupulous about the need to be "in love and charity with her neighbour" than too many who approach Communion with no qualms (though I guess if we waited to be ready to receive...yes, well, let's not go there....)
On her blog, this sparked the sort of "Peace or not discussion" which seems inevitable in most churches from time to time...so I thought, why not? Let's give it another airing.
So here are a few reasons why I am largely in favour of the Peace...
1) because it CAN and SHOULD be an opportunity to heal broken relationships before receiving Communion...and is good theology, obedient to Jesus's command (Matt 5 22-25) (...make the most of that, it's not often you'll catch me actually quoting Scripture ;-) )
2)because it can break down barriers between groups and individuals in the church family...when we first moved to our previous house, we knew nobody in the village, but the children adopted 2 quite excellent honorary grandparents by dint of moving in on them during the Peace and somehow never quite leaving.
3)because (to repeat my comments on that blog) it can provide a bit of human contact for otherwise lonely and untouched souls
All of this only holds good if you are actually attempting to match deeds with thoughts...to go through the motions while harbouring murderous intentions is clearly never a good idea. I do recognise as well how the Peace can also work against community, isolating those who are not "in the know" still further...it is so awful when you visit a church and find yourself politely shaking the hands nearest to you while all around others are flinging their arms around their dearest friends whom they've clearly not seen since...ooh...at least last Sunday!
By nature a touchy feely type, I'm mindful too of those for whom such contact is deeply uncomfortable..the sheer embarassment factor can be huge, I'm certain.
But, despite all this, to remove the rite from the liturgy would seem to me to imply that it is possible for the Body of Christ to operate as though were simply a group of disparate individuals, as if our worship as community did not in fact matter. I think we need the discomfort, the long hard looks at our relationships, even perhaps the occasional embarassment along the way. Sorry Mrs Beamish, but your day is not yet!
On her blog, this sparked the sort of "Peace or not discussion" which seems inevitable in most churches from time to time...so I thought, why not? Let's give it another airing.
So here are a few reasons why I am largely in favour of the Peace...
1) because it CAN and SHOULD be an opportunity to heal broken relationships before receiving Communion...and is good theology, obedient to Jesus's command (Matt 5 22-25) (...make the most of that, it's not often you'll catch me actually quoting Scripture ;-) )
2)because it can break down barriers between groups and individuals in the church family...when we first moved to our previous house, we knew nobody in the village, but the children adopted 2 quite excellent honorary grandparents by dint of moving in on them during the Peace and somehow never quite leaving.
3)because (to repeat my comments on that blog) it can provide a bit of human contact for otherwise lonely and untouched souls
All of this only holds good if you are actually attempting to match deeds with thoughts...to go through the motions while harbouring murderous intentions is clearly never a good idea. I do recognise as well how the Peace can also work against community, isolating those who are not "in the know" still further...it is so awful when you visit a church and find yourself politely shaking the hands nearest to you while all around others are flinging their arms around their dearest friends whom they've clearly not seen since...ooh...at least last Sunday!
By nature a touchy feely type, I'm mindful too of those for whom such contact is deeply uncomfortable..the sheer embarassment factor can be huge, I'm certain.
But, despite all this, to remove the rite from the liturgy would seem to me to imply that it is possible for the Body of Christ to operate as though were simply a group of disparate individuals, as if our worship as community did not in fact matter. I think we need the discomfort, the long hard looks at our relationships, even perhaps the occasional embarassment along the way. Sorry Mrs Beamish, but your day is not yet!
Monday, January 31, 2005
The ideal godparent...
We've recently begun an overhaul of Baptism preparation here. Nothing too radical, as we're not even considering an obstacle course for prospective families,- more a gentle tweaking to ensure that we, the church community, are doing everything we can to make Baptism as signficant as it ought to be. As part of the process last week we began a short course for our Baptism visitors, which gave plenty of food for thought. Clearly, it is not going to be easy to help families prepare for baptism if the majority of our visitors have almost no idea what they think that sacrament is achieving...
Methinks I spy a sermon series looming on the horizon.
Meanwhile, the reading/thinking for next week included an article by Clare Rayner (a humanist) on "non godparents", which included the depressing paragraph
"Who should be your child's extra parent. This is where the church's model is (or should be) left far behind. In the majority of cases, being invited to stand as godparent at a baby's christening is regarded as a sort of lollipop for a family friend...or a form of investment....more of an honour for the godparent than of real value to the child"
Leaving aside the many assumptions Rayner makes, this was a good jumping off point for general discussion on the role of godparents, those we've chosen for our own children and why...but the best bit of homework goes like this
"If you could have chosen your own godparent, contemporary or historical, who would you have chosen and why? Jesus is not allowed!"
Actually, my own parents chose some wonderful godparents for me, all of whom have shown endless loving, prayerful interest through the years, carrying an unexpected burden when my parents died when I was 18. I wouldn't want to displace any of them, but if I were allowed another, then who??
Maybe J, my inspirational former spiritual director...because she is so creatively aware of God in everything, and the joy of that knowledge keeps breaking through and transforming the most mundane situations? also, she does have the world's best tree house in her garden, which must be a consideration...and loves my children too.
Or maybe I could claim beloved George Herbert? I suspect he might have found a small child difficult to deal with, even one who shared his love of words, but his little rectory at Bemerton was surely full of books, and I might have joined him on his walk into Salisbury every week to make music with his friends there. I know I would have been certain of his prayers, and might have benefitted from his clear vision of God's loving relationship with us...He would have been a calming presence in my harum scarum life....and just think, if I'd been the first to hear one of his poems!
If I'd had C. S. Lewis, I might have found myself visiting Narnia with Lucy...now that was quite a legacy from a godfather...but I'm not sure he really liked many women, so it might have been uncomfortable sometimes.
Perhaps it's fortunate the choice doesn't lie with us.
That said, my own children are thoroughly blessed in their godparents . While I would hate to leave them yet, I do feel confident that they each have good, strong relationships with adults who love them generously and would do everything possible to help them find their way through life. I'm all too aware of my own shortcomings as a godmother; saying "yes" to too many friends makes it so much harder to really know all my godchildren, but they do each have one day of the week when I make sure I pray for them. Now I need to think of some other realistic ways of making our bond real for us both, despite the constraints of geography and time.
Methinks I spy a sermon series looming on the horizon.
Meanwhile, the reading/thinking for next week included an article by Clare Rayner (a humanist) on "non godparents", which included the depressing paragraph
"Who should be your child's extra parent. This is where the church's model is (or should be) left far behind. In the majority of cases, being invited to stand as godparent at a baby's christening is regarded as a sort of lollipop for a family friend...or a form of investment....more of an honour for the godparent than of real value to the child"
Leaving aside the many assumptions Rayner makes, this was a good jumping off point for general discussion on the role of godparents, those we've chosen for our own children and why...but the best bit of homework goes like this
"If you could have chosen your own godparent, contemporary or historical, who would you have chosen and why? Jesus is not allowed!"
Actually, my own parents chose some wonderful godparents for me, all of whom have shown endless loving, prayerful interest through the years, carrying an unexpected burden when my parents died when I was 18. I wouldn't want to displace any of them, but if I were allowed another, then who??
Maybe J, my inspirational former spiritual director...because she is so creatively aware of God in everything, and the joy of that knowledge keeps breaking through and transforming the most mundane situations? also, she does have the world's best tree house in her garden, which must be a consideration...and loves my children too.
Or maybe I could claim beloved George Herbert? I suspect he might have found a small child difficult to deal with, even one who shared his love of words, but his little rectory at Bemerton was surely full of books, and I might have joined him on his walk into Salisbury every week to make music with his friends there. I know I would have been certain of his prayers, and might have benefitted from his clear vision of God's loving relationship with us...He would have been a calming presence in my harum scarum life....and just think, if I'd been the first to hear one of his poems!
If I'd had C. S. Lewis, I might have found myself visiting Narnia with Lucy...now that was quite a legacy from a godfather...but I'm not sure he really liked many women, so it might have been uncomfortable sometimes.
Perhaps it's fortunate the choice doesn't lie with us.
That said, my own children are thoroughly blessed in their godparents . While I would hate to leave them yet, I do feel confident that they each have good, strong relationships with adults who love them generously and would do everything possible to help them find their way through life. I'm all too aware of my own shortcomings as a godmother; saying "yes" to too many friends makes it so much harder to really know all my godchildren, but they do each have one day of the week when I make sure I pray for them. Now I need to think of some other realistic ways of making our bond real for us both, despite the constraints of geography and time.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
U2 Brutus?
When I posted here that I hoped to try some new things this year, among the thoughts I'd had was to finally go to a non-classical concert, - a gig, in fact. The teens were sure that this should be u2 and I was quite happy to go along with this...even I know and enjoy some of their music. So, when the booking opened for the Vertigo tour at 9.00 a.m. I was poised by the computer...only to discover that it took about 30 mins to get the ticketmaster site to work..by which stage the affordable tickets for London had all sold out. What to do? Typically, Luci wasn't answering her phone (maybe she really does turn it off when she's working) and G's phone was beside me on the desk, so not much point calling him for advice. Brainwave. I phone school and ask if they can get a message through to one of the kids to phone me, stressing that it's not a family crisis but a "simple" matter of U2 tickets.
"Oooh..booking opens today doesn't it....but the lines are really busy" says the school secretary, rather surprisingly. I get a mad image of hoardes of middle aged mums like us spending the morning intent on defeating the demons of the bookings system, none of us suspecting that the others are there....School secretary shows signs of wanting to engage in a full scale Bono appreciation conversation, and to talk about the Make Poverty History campaign,- which is great, except that I'm worried that all the tickets will sell out while we chat. I ring off, and about an hour later G phones and agrees that the prices are impossible unless we can get standing tickets. At this point, Ticketmaster suddenly claim that they might after all have some for the extra Twickenham date....so I go through the whole procedure, complete with overloaded website messages, computer crashing etc for another half hour or so, before being told that this too is sold out. Grrr. Back to the drawing board, then. The kids, whose exams will be safely behind them, will go to the Cardiff gig but my ordination retreat starts that day, so clearly it's not going to work for me. Bother. While this is the first time I've spent a whole morning trying to get tickets for something I wasn't totally sure I would enjoy, the fact that I now know I can't go has lent the whole thing an allure it wouldn't otherwise have, and the blogosphere seems to be full of people describing their own success or failure in booking. Just as well I'll be locked up with the bishop, really, or I might be the only person I know not going ....
Alternative suggestions for a good first gig for a 40 something who is still not sure what she really likes beyond the strictly classical, anyone?I really would be glad to know.
"Oooh..booking opens today doesn't it....but the lines are really busy" says the school secretary, rather surprisingly. I get a mad image of hoardes of middle aged mums like us spending the morning intent on defeating the demons of the bookings system, none of us suspecting that the others are there....School secretary shows signs of wanting to engage in a full scale Bono appreciation conversation, and to talk about the Make Poverty History campaign,- which is great, except that I'm worried that all the tickets will sell out while we chat. I ring off, and about an hour later G phones and agrees that the prices are impossible unless we can get standing tickets. At this point, Ticketmaster suddenly claim that they might after all have some for the extra Twickenham date....so I go through the whole procedure, complete with overloaded website messages, computer crashing etc for another half hour or so, before being told that this too is sold out. Grrr. Back to the drawing board, then. The kids, whose exams will be safely behind them, will go to the Cardiff gig but my ordination retreat starts that day, so clearly it's not going to work for me. Bother. While this is the first time I've spent a whole morning trying to get tickets for something I wasn't totally sure I would enjoy, the fact that I now know I can't go has lent the whole thing an allure it wouldn't otherwise have, and the blogosphere seems to be full of people describing their own success or failure in booking. Just as well I'll be locked up with the bishop, really, or I might be the only person I know not going ....
Alternative suggestions for a good first gig for a 40 something who is still not sure what she really likes beyond the strictly classical, anyone?I really would be glad to know.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
By way of an elegy....
Heard on classic fm this afternoon that today would have been Jacqueline du Pre's 60th birthday. Her recording of the Haydn Cello concerto was the first LP (does anyone remember those?) I ever bought and she was a huge inspiration to me as a very young and rather dreadful cellist. On my 13th birthday, my parents bought us tickets to hear her play the Elgar Concerto at the Brighton Festival,- but when we got there, a notice announced that she was "indisposed" and Menuhin played for us instead. There was no hint as to the real problem, and my mother consoled me by saying "She's young...you'll have many more opportunities to hear her, while Menuhin might retire any time now".
In fact she was never to perform in public again, though I did hear her give a masterclass a couple of years later, and treasured through my teens a dictated response to one of very few fan letters I've ever written. But her music has gone with me through every phase of life since, and has often been the first thing to go on the stereo when trying to make a new place feel like home....She seemed to touch deep reserves of joy which few other musicians could reach, and to share that joy with her listeners with an exuberance that has kept her legend alive 18 years after her death.
In fact she was never to perform in public again, though I did hear her give a masterclass a couple of years later, and treasured through my teens a dictated response to one of very few fan letters I've ever written. But her music has gone with me through every phase of life since, and has often been the first thing to go on the stereo when trying to make a new place feel like home....She seemed to touch deep reserves of joy which few other musicians could reach, and to share that joy with her listeners with an exuberance that has kept her legend alive 18 years after her death.
Buildings: blessings or millstones?
Lunched yesterday with a gaggle of local clergy, who are part of an ongoing discussion about the shape of the Anglican church here, and how we can more effectively collaborate across parish boundaries, while remaining true to the great ideal of "every blade of grass in the country being within the care of some (horticultural?) Anglican vicar". There is a pretty wide range of views within the group, as those near retirement lament the lost church of yesteryear, while others contribute frustration, depression or, occasionally, just the smallest glimmers of hope. Having focussed on all the positive potential of collaboration yesterday, our conversation turned to the question of church closures,- not an immediate issue, but probably lurking at the back of most minds at Church House.
Realistically, it seems clear that there is no way the number of buildings we have can possibly be kept open...they are a dead weight impeding so much of what we try to do and be. In a room full of clergy, it's easy to accept this and agree that it's a nonsense the way we spend so much time worrying about our "plant", even to reach for the phone to summon the diocesan arsonist! But actually, I'm not quite sure.
In the months since I came here, I've heard so many people talk about what their parish church means to them but have also been startled that talking about this seems to be far more pressing for the majority than any conversation about faith or...dare I say it?...about God.
I've wondered which relationship is really the more important for them...and whether the faithful in the pews are actually as confused about this as it sometimes seems. More evidence there to avoid misunderstanding by dispensing with even beloved, medieval shrines? Maybe...
But , more positively, our building is open every day and I'm encouraged by how often I find someone there at odd times. People pop in after tending a grave, or en route to collect from school, and sit in the dim quiet. Sometimes, these are people I never see otherwise...some are regular visitors, some come only once...but if that once is at an important time in their lives, they will remember it, just as they would remember if they had come seeking peace and an encounter with God, and found the door locked.
An experience from the past supports this, and makes me think there is still a case for a visible, recognisable church presence in each community. About 10 years ago, a toddler was killed by a car in the new village that had been created out of a former airforce base in my old benefice...I went up there the following morning to see his mum, and found a scene which reminded me of black and white film versions of the aftermath of pit disasters in Welsh mining villages. At almost every gate down the street, women were standing....not talking...not doing anything really, just standing. They needed to be together, to express somehow their feelings of grief and shock as a community....and there was nowhere for them to go. That village has no church...we met for worship in the village hall, but that's not the place to go for a quiet prayer. Those women needed to go somewhere where prayer happens, is part of the fabric, where they could feel safe and welcomed by a hug from God. To get into the car and drive the 3 miles down to church in the old village somehow didn't feel like an option ( not everyone would have access to a car in any case). I didn't know most of those women. None of them were part of the congregation that met on Sundays and I remember very few of them openly saying that they needed somewhere to pray, but it seemed obvious to me that day. They needed a sacred space in their midst, but it had been decreed that they weren't to have one. At the time it was made, that diocesan decision had made sense to me, but I'm no longer convinced.
I accept that a known and identifiable prayer room in the village hall would have met the need, and I'm not campaigning with the Victorian Society or English heritage (well, maybe sometimes) to ensure that no gothic stone, however unlovely, is ever shifted a centimetre. Rather, I'm putting in a bid for recognisable sacred space in each community....maybe above a cafe, maybe part of a community centre...I dont mind what it looks like, provided it is known about, prayed in, and open.
Realistically, it seems clear that there is no way the number of buildings we have can possibly be kept open...they are a dead weight impeding so much of what we try to do and be. In a room full of clergy, it's easy to accept this and agree that it's a nonsense the way we spend so much time worrying about our "plant", even to reach for the phone to summon the diocesan arsonist! But actually, I'm not quite sure.
In the months since I came here, I've heard so many people talk about what their parish church means to them but have also been startled that talking about this seems to be far more pressing for the majority than any conversation about faith or...dare I say it?...about God.
I've wondered which relationship is really the more important for them...and whether the faithful in the pews are actually as confused about this as it sometimes seems. More evidence there to avoid misunderstanding by dispensing with even beloved, medieval shrines? Maybe...
But , more positively, our building is open every day and I'm encouraged by how often I find someone there at odd times. People pop in after tending a grave, or en route to collect from school, and sit in the dim quiet. Sometimes, these are people I never see otherwise...some are regular visitors, some come only once...but if that once is at an important time in their lives, they will remember it, just as they would remember if they had come seeking peace and an encounter with God, and found the door locked.
An experience from the past supports this, and makes me think there is still a case for a visible, recognisable church presence in each community. About 10 years ago, a toddler was killed by a car in the new village that had been created out of a former airforce base in my old benefice...I went up there the following morning to see his mum, and found a scene which reminded me of black and white film versions of the aftermath of pit disasters in Welsh mining villages. At almost every gate down the street, women were standing....not talking...not doing anything really, just standing. They needed to be together, to express somehow their feelings of grief and shock as a community....and there was nowhere for them to go. That village has no church...we met for worship in the village hall, but that's not the place to go for a quiet prayer. Those women needed to go somewhere where prayer happens, is part of the fabric, where they could feel safe and welcomed by a hug from God. To get into the car and drive the 3 miles down to church in the old village somehow didn't feel like an option ( not everyone would have access to a car in any case). I didn't know most of those women. None of them were part of the congregation that met on Sundays and I remember very few of them openly saying that they needed somewhere to pray, but it seemed obvious to me that day. They needed a sacred space in their midst, but it had been decreed that they weren't to have one. At the time it was made, that diocesan decision had made sense to me, but I'm no longer convinced.
I accept that a known and identifiable prayer room in the village hall would have met the need, and I'm not campaigning with the Victorian Society or English heritage (well, maybe sometimes) to ensure that no gothic stone, however unlovely, is ever shifted a centimetre. Rather, I'm putting in a bid for recognisable sacred space in each community....maybe above a cafe, maybe part of a community centre...I dont mind what it looks like, provided it is known about, prayed in, and open.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Post - Script to the Church from Scratch
Talked about this on the school run and, as had been predicted, the kids were considerably more conservative than we had been last night. Though "worship" had been one of our essential words, all 3 were outraged that we might, even for a moment, consider a church without music.
Needless to say, none of the things that tend to dominate the home church,- choreography, furniture, even preaching,- were core values. So...how do we get to there from here?
Needless to say, none of the things that tend to dominate the home church,- choreography, furniture, even preaching,- were core values. So...how do we get to there from here?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)