Greenbelt 2014

Other than the two Outerspace sessions, which I had a hand in organising, my Greenbelt was filled with music, most of it from the Canopy, but also some from the Glade stage. I even failed to make my usual homage at the feet of Padraig O Tuama.

There was a buzz around the festival about Vicky Beeching – but I couldn't really join in because I don't really know who she is (despite the fact that she seems to be following me on twitter and, this is just a guess but, my money is on the fact that she doesn't really know who I am either). There was one point while I was looking after the Outerspace stall when somebody was talking earnestly about the terrible things Vicky had been through, and I had to resort to “nod and smile” tactics, because it really didn't seem like the moment to mention that I hadn't read her interview in the Independent, and so while I didn't doubt her courage I didn't actually know what she had been courageous about.

This is not a criticism of Vicky Beeching (I mean the last thing I want to do is offend one of my followers...) but that experience is indicative of the fact that for all its talk of dialogue and diversity there is a lot of “group-think” at Greenbelt. Greenbelt does provide “diversity” by being different from other (Christian) festivals – but, for me at least, it is less clear how wide the acceptable range of opinion “within” Greenbelt actually is. I don't mind that Greenbelt/Greenbelters have an agenda – I think I just get a little weary of some of the self-congratulation based on the belief that they don't.

I have never been one to over do talks, one a day has always seemed plenty, but this year I really struggled to find the motivation to hear anybody, I guess I had no desire for “words”. Perhaps there is a tiredness, it must be 30 years since my first socio-political action when we took part in a “Walk for the World” (and yes we did “get the T-Shirt”), one of my earliest memories is going to collect some stock from the local "Traidcraft Lady", and while in absent minded moments I still find myself singing 1970s protest songs if we are honest it was not peaceful women's songs but the excess of its own insanity that defeated the Cold War. And so somehow Greenbelt doesn't energise me with hope, I increasingly find myself seeing Greenbelt not as a radical expression of the new society but more as a soporific. It allows people to comfort themselves that they do “care” without the need for fundamental change or challenge to their lifestyle or society at large. There is much spirited talk of anti-capitalism, but ultimately it is consumerism that drives the festival. But I will not throw stones, I am aware of my glass house – my life is lived far from the commune or the peace-camp.

I also found myself averse to the worship, and this was more troubling to me as I have often been a bit of a worship junkie at Greenbelt. OK I have never “done” the Greenbelt Communion – I have learnt to own the fact that I don't worship in crowds, it is the mid-week Communion and the 8 O’clock that are my natural worshipping contexts. But too much of the worship programme felt like it was primarily there as an opportunity for the organisers to demonstrate how clever they were – little seemed to create simple space for an encounter with God. I clearly critique unfairly that which I did not participate in – I speak, perhaps, from a place of underlining alienation. I remain heartbroken by the House of Bishops' Valentines message – what shocked me was not that the Bishops could pronounce with such cruelty and/or stupidity but that I cared. I thought I was long past caring about the thoughts of Bishops, and yet they had created a barrier I couldn't cross, getting off the bus that Sunday I turned away from the Church and walked home. Living out the metaphor that “Home” and “Church” lie in opposite directions was all too stark. I go now but don't belong because I leave my vulnerability at home, and so I am not open to the experience which makes it very hard for Jesus' love to heal the wound.