Home Movies by Claire Jenkins

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I guess I have to begin by admitting a potential bias as Claire is an old school friend (although I think neither of us would dwell on the “old” part...) but thankfully I found this a book that does require rose-tinted glasses to review.

To apply intellectual rigour to the lightweight output of mainstream Hollywood is important as these are the movies that have a mass audience and as such these have far greater cultural influence than many films which would receive critical accolades.

It is perhaps no great surprise to find that Hollywood is ultimately culturally conservative, however it is interests to explore the ways in which moments of seeming diversity or progressive portrayals are in fact constrained.

Diversity is OK in Hollywood, as long as you are middle-class and in the long run fall into the basic pattern of the nuclear family. There are Black families, but they are firmly middle-class, there are Gay families, but not only are they also middle-class there is a strong binary gendering of the familial roles adopted by the partners. There are single-parents but their narrative resolution almost invariably the establishment of a relationship (very often with the other biological parent of their child).

Superficial differences are accepted but underlining these is conformity. And that message of conformity is all the more pervasive when clothed in trappings of diversity.

The Spiritual City by Philip Sheldrake

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There was much that I liked about this book, and it felt right to be reading it while I was in New York, in the context of a prime example of “the city” as we now encounter it.

While the arguments for taking the City seriously as Christians were well made what seemed to be missing was how to actually deal with the City of the 21^st Century. It is clear that many of the thinkers who used here lived in cities whose populations were counted in hundreds of thousand rather millions and scale is key to the functioning of communities. Also we have to take into account the differences between our infrastructure rich “western” cities and many of the vast cities in other parts of the world where significant proportions of their populations live without access to effective infrastructure, be that transport, sanitation, utilities etc, and therefore their participation in any common life of “the City” is difficult.

While we were in New York we when to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) which among its exhibitions would currently showing one on Architecture in Latin America from 1950s to 1980s. Its focus was on the planned urban developments, including its completely new Cities such as Brasilia. Much of this work seemed to run counter to the ideas that Sheldrake was putting forward. Urban planning of that era in the UK is generally derided and an equivalent exhibition for the UK would likely be dominated by a catalogue of grand follies and relief at visions that were never realised. This was not the tone of the MoMA exhibition – it seemed to be looking back with positivity.

One of the quotes I particularly liked follows on from this “Stories are more than descriptions. They take ownership of spaces, define boundaries, and create bridges between individuals. The narrative structure of local communities enables people to shape the world that surrounds them, rather than be passively controlled by it.” (p109) It is key that local communities have the opportunity to describe themselves – too often poorer communities find that it is only the (negative) descriptions of others that are given validity – we might recall the post-War “slum clearances”, where many now talk of the strength of the communities that was lost in the move to new housing estates and tower blocks – call it “slum clearance” or “destruction of community” the lens you use determines what you will see.

While another quote “Memory is redemptive in that only by handling the past constructively are we able effectively to shape the present and name a future that we may aspire to.” (p122) hints at the reason why much urban regeneration fails, too often it involves wiping the slate clean and trying to start completely afresh – leaving whatever is created soulless and without roots. Better to work with the past, being adaptive and reshaping.

Whatever the city is, it will always be a melting pot – however much those with “power” might try to regulate and sanitise the population there will be places beyond their reach – with so much life in the city there will always be some that is overlooked – and perhaps it is in those overlooked places that the greatest creativity is found.

A Welsh Dawn by Gareth Thomas

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Set in the 1950s I guess this counts as a historical novel, it is a coming of age story – coming of age both for some of the lead characters but also for the Welsh political consciousness.

It is a fictionalised account set in the firm context of real events, many of the figures that pass through the novel were real people, which sometimes has the effect of constraining storytelling – but not here the story is vivid and the drama of the different lives has real momentum. Also there is definite skill in maintaining the quality across an ensemble piece, following different lives and different generations.

There are symbolic elements, for example in the friendship between english monoglot Gwilym and welsh monoglot William their names (identities?) divergent to their language. But these rest lightly and are not over played.

It is a very Welsh novel – it pivots around the drowning of Tryweryn – an event that is key to understanding the Welsh (political) consciousness – an event that is unknown to “the English” which is perhaps part of its enduring pain. However this is no hagiography, that the Welsh political establishment is ineffectual in its efforts to influence Westminster is not simply blamed on the English side of the bargain. Even today we have to question why the devolution settlement leave Wales so far behind Scotland in status and benefits – if the Scots can secure concessions from Westminster why can't the Welsh?

But this is not just a “political” tale – it is also the story of young love, and of the complexities of middle-age relationships, and these human dramas are told with richness and authenticity. These are believable people, and people that you come to care about.

Travelling Inwards St Teresa's Interior Castle for Everyone by Elizabeth Ruth Obbard

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This is a small book, offering a simply presentation of St Teresa's image of the spiritual life as a journey into a Castle.

There is wisdom here, but perhaps at times the brevity of the account results in a lack of richness – some of the advice, while valid, can feel like a stark edict.

The accompanying cartoon illustrations have great charm and add a welcome sweetness to the whole.

The Changi Cross by Louise Cordingly

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This slime volume tells the tale of the Changi Cross, a brass Altar Cross made by British Prisoners of War after the fall of Singapore, and taken with the PoWs when they are moved to build the Thai-Burma Railway – aka the death railway.

It is also the tale of the ministry of Eric Cordingly, an Army Chaplain and PoW, told by his daughter.

The subtitle “A Symbol of Hope in the Shadow of Death” in many ways says it all – speaking both of the particular object, the Changi Cross, but also of the Cross in general – there was an immediacy of the Shadow for the PoWs but it is still there throughout life.

Also that part of the Cross is made of a shell casing has a certain echo – it was all they had to hand, and yet there seems to be some kind of message there.

I have long been drawn to military Chaplaincy, in it there is an acute expression of Christian service – that the Chaplain will forego the possibility of escape to remain with the men and women in their charge is very powerful, it is the essence of the cure of soul, the priest is bound to the people in ways that go beyond any other.

Babes and Sucklings by Janice B Scott

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A guess I should preface this with a spoiler alert, but to be honest the plot is so thin I am not sure that there is a great deal of point.

This is the second novel to feature the curate Polly Hewitt, and I think I read the first, but I don't seem to have blogged about it, maybe I felt unable to bring myself to relive the experience.

One of the things that puzzles me is that Scott is herself a priest and yet many of the basic details of Church life are inaccurate – and inaccurate in ways that seem to serve no narrative purpose. This, as a vicarage child, becomes very distracting although how much it would worry the general reader I don't know.

Also Polly Hewitt is an intensely irritating individual – that she without fail calls her lawyer Boyfriend “Babes” would for me be sufficient grounds for divorce. But also the Bishop tells her repeatedly “My door is always open, come to me at the first sign of trouble” - which she writes off as empty words – finally she realises they were genuine, and yet we are still left with the feeling the Bishop is the bad guy, rather than the conclusion that Polly is a bit of an idiot.

The plot is based around the juxtaposition of a new Vicar, with undiagnosed Asperger's, and a charming American who has also just moved to the village – then a child is abducted and everyone has to try to work out who is the paedophile. This much you learn from the blurb on the back cover. So long before the child is abducted, on the first encounter with the Owen the American you know he is going to be the paedophile. The only element of tension or suspense is wondering quiet how long it will take Polly to catch up.

It is one of those times when what is troubling is that the novel tackles “big” themes and issues but just can't carry the wait of them. It is all a bit Midsomer Murders – and I am not sure with this material that is good enough.

An Honest Life, Faithful and Gay by Geoffrey Hooper

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I was struck immediately by the title, An Honest Life, it is what I seek to live, but it seems that it is not something the Church actually supports. There have been moments when something other than an “honest” existence has been attractive, and I am increasingly troubled by, and for, my peers who seem to live within another state.

When Geoffrey talked of the gay cliques at King's it rang bells with me – not of my time at King's but afterwards when I was Chaplaincy Assistant at Keele, I recall hanging out with two students who were at that point in a closeted relationship with each other, so we made up a little gang, where our sexuality, while still unspoken, was acknowledged. There was a bond that came from this slightly illicit gathering, that you were part of it. As an aside, one of the Chaplains at Keele in order to try to move my exploration of vocation on arranged for me to visit Staggers, it was fun (until the almighty hang over from the gin), and one of the lessons I learnt was that being gay was not a problem, as long as you managed it in the right way.

While at Keele I also learnt how complicated it is trying manage a closeted life. I had come out back at Sixth Form, and as a student in Durham and at King's I had an open and active involvement in both Christian and gay scenes, without any real difficulties. Going to Keele the gay side of life somehow took a back seat, although there were people who knew I was gay, in part because my sister had been a student there and so there were people around who knew her and knew her brother was gay. But the experience of Keele, for me, was claustrophobic and I increasingly see that a key cause of that was living in the closet.

From Keele I went on to Bishop Grosseteste in Lincoln and as I went deeper into the formal exploration of vocation I found myself increasingly distancing myself from gay life, well from those aspects of gay life that might involve public acknowledgement – I didn't actually let the dust settle on my Gaydar profile...

I am not sure what the particular trigger was that made me take an “honest” look at what I was doing – it was partly that I am pretty rubbish at lying, I don't have the capacity to remember which lies I have told which people, it is all too much hard work and even after only a relatively few months of trying to juggle a “straight” front I was exhausted by it – but there was a moment of clarity when I saw the essential tragedy of so many of these “bachelor” Priests, the lace and the gin are all well and good but there comes a point when the brief encounters are not a substitute for love.

It was clear to me that there were only two choices, even in Lincoln with one of the most gay “friendly” Bishops, choices at least until you had safely got through selection, or possibly training, there was an idea that once you got a Dog Collar there might be more freedom, although I think I realised that there would always be some reason for deferring honesty, waiting till you had free-hold, waiting for that new job offer, waiting till you had won the trust of the parish...

Two choices, follow my vocation or be open about my sexuality and hold on to my sanity.

There then followed a few moments of bridge burning to put my sexuality out there, to irrevocably close the door of the closet from the outside - perhaps a rather dramatic metaphor – I was not prancing down the aisle of Lincoln Cathedral declaring my desires – no, it was little acts, perhaps no one really noticed but they were important to me, joining the local Changing Attitude group, going back to YLGC (Young Lesbian and Gay Christians), having a boyfriend that I talked about.

And I tried to find other routes to express the vocation, as the end of my contract approached I applied for every chaplaincy post I could find which didn't make ordination a prerequisite. There followed six months of unemployment, living back home with my parents, and just at the moment when I was start to acknowledge I was stuck in Chester and should try to get a life there (and as I did I think there was even the potential for a relationship with a lovely guy on horizon), God decided the lesson in humility had been endured long enough, and an admin job in Southampton was offered.

On the first night in Southampton, as I got into the sleeping bag on the floor of the hurriedly found, unfurnished, flat I will admit that I was scared that this move was going to be a total disaster – but in the days, weeks, years that have followed there have been so many signs that have told me that this is where God has called me, placed me. I am blessed with a full and stimulating life and a loving relationship, but there are times when there is a yearning, there is an unfilled hole left by that “abandoned” vocation (even if there are probably a great deal more frequent times when I reflect that I had a lucky escape).

Within our parish we have experimented with lay worship leaders, but I had to stand back from it because to be leading the people in worship created a state of turmoil, a taste of a calling and yet only underlining the void between me and the fullness of its expression. I also find attending the ordinations of friends can be a little painful, like the spurned ex-girlfriend at a wedding, I am on the verge of standing at a vital moment and declaring “but it should have been ME!”.

In some ways I am thankful that Winchester has such a conservative Bishop (I realise I am the only one) because it means that there is no temptation toward compromise or collusion, the would be no nudge-nudge, no supportive in private as long as you keep your head down, keep it unofficial, and avoid speaking out against the Church. There would only be a “no”. It a funny sort of way I take this as one of the signs that I am in the right place.

But there are others for whom I worry. There was a young man I knew through the gay group in Durham, (my friends knew him as “Cute Chad's Fresher”), and one Sunday I ended up sitting with him at the Eucharist at the Cathedral and then going for coffee – over which he talked about his “chosen profession” - which was a little cryptic, but clearly ordination. He is now a priest, we are friends on Facebook, although in reality only acquaintances (that coffee had, in various ways, a more profound effect on me that is seems it had on him), and so the content I see via Facebook is I assume for general consumption, I am part of no inner circle – and so because I saw his fancy dress outfit for the Pride Parade I imagine, at least in theory, his Bishop saw it too.

But there are others, some days my Facebook wall seems to be exclusively made up of the antics of gay priests, and you are left wondering what conclusion you are supposes to make, or not make, that their holiday photos seems to always include that same “friend”.

It is this group of my peers that troubles me, they must have been faced with the same questions during the process of testing vocation as I was, in many ways the vocation process has increasingly shone a spot light on sexuality and therefore to be gay and pass through it involves ever more gymnastics. This is a group that are making the choice to play that game, in a way that I don't think is true for earlier cohorts – those who were ordained when to be gay in society generally require a certain amount of management of identity, when the idea of same-sex marriage was a fantasy, or when Issues in Human Sexuality was written and it's the authors thought the Church was on a journey – and in its wake you might have thought any compromise you had to make would have been temporary...

So what do my cohort say about the value of “truth” in the Church, I will admit I look on them with bitterness, their collusion is one of the brakes on change. There are some that draw parallels between the journey toward the ordination of women and the, open, ordination of gay, lesbian, bi, etc. people. But the parallels collapse because the pressure that forced the change for women was the witness of those women would were called but not ordained banging on the door demanding access. There are effectively no gay witnesses, they have all slipped in through the door, and the last thing they will do is raise their voice to demand access for others for fear that instead they will be ejected. Their collusion is what ensures the continuing denial of honesty in the Church.

But I also worry about them as people, what is life really like for them, I might at times throw stones that they are having their cake and eating it – but are they, I somehow doubt it. I think there is rather more cake on my side of the fence. How do we make a different kind of Church that would allow them an honest life without wreaking their existence in the process? Maybe it is all omelettes and broken eggs. My trouble is that I am not really an activist, I am not one to man the barricades, I prefer to quietly get on with living my own life but I still hold these worries in my heart as I struggle to do anything about them.

The Keys of Babylon by Robert Minhinnnick

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This is a skilful collection of stories, about identity and dislocation.

The nature of the dislocation varies from character to character – some it is the result of physical moves of geographic, others it comes in more subtle ways.

These are richly told, as you would expect of a writer of the calibre of Minhinnick, while each people gets just 10 to 20 pages I felt you experienced them as fully rounded – in the way that you sometimes, albeit rarely, meet someone and almost instantly they become an “old friend”.

Maybe there is a particular attraction in this kind of narrative, where we walk with a gathering of people whose common bond is that they are in different ways “misfits”, for those of us who have always been somewhat ill at ease about our place in society.