In this his latest
book Pádraig
shares some of the stories that go alongside his poems, when you hear
him speak the poems are often the sort of punch line to a tale, an it
is good to hear some of them again. But there is also a lot of more
here, much of which deals with the pain of life.
There is so much
that I could pick up on – I would be at risk of quotes the entire
book – so here are just a few thoughts, perhaps at random, perhaps
connected.
Among the quotes
that stuck for me is “Whatever Jesus of Nazareth's death means, it
doesn't mean something that can be written on a fridge magnet.”
which speaks to the way the Church tends to reduce the complexity of
God into manageable formula – but it also has the compact punch
that would fit nicely on a fridge magnet, perhaps over a sun set or
some other stock image.
There is a great
richness in the idea of “story” for Pádraig,
captured well as he writes “We are the stories we tell about
ourselves and we are more than the stories we tell about ourselves.
We fiction and fable our lives in order to tell of thing that are
more than true and we lie – if only by omission – by reducing
ourselves to mere facts.”
There are just a few
poems included, and following on the theme of stories was
“Returnings”
I see her, former
colleague
in the baggage
area of a
foreign airport.
Oh hi, she says,
looking awkwardly
towards the
empty carousel.
Then she decides.
I hear you're gay
now, she says.
Are you still a
Christian?
Oh how will we
tell this story?
She, to her
friends, with
sadness,
curiosity and prayers
for reorientation
and returning.
Me, to mine, with
sadness,
anger and prayers
for
refocusing the
lenses and returning.
And the anger was
all mine,
but that question
was all about
her.
Should we not
just dance instead,
I should have
said,
together turn a
little waltz in
the chorus of our
own bodies
while we wait and
wait for something better
than the empty
carousel of this question.
How will we tell
this story?
How will I tell
this story?
With sadness,
with practicings
of little ballroom dances
while we wait,
confidently,
for what is most
important to be returned.
As with this poem,
much of the wrestling within Pádraig's
stories is on the fault lines of Christian and Sexual identities –
and it was helpful to have him as a companion as I was trying to vote
for General Synod, faced with a selection of candidates who would
mostly draw the lines of faithfulness with me on the outside.
Among the irritants in their election addresses
was the phrase “those experiencing same-sex attraction” and it
took a while to work out some of the problems with it. One of the
keys was Pádraig's
reflection that in giving a group a (new) name you take power over
them. I don't know any gay person who would describe themselves as
experiencing same-sex attraction – I might say I fancy guys, but I
would never say I experience same-sex attraction. Using this term
takes away our self expression and tends towards dis-empowering and
silencing the very people who are the centre of the debate.
And within this new
name there are other moves at work. For example by not saying “people
who are gay” but rather “people who experience same-sex
attraction” you externalise the “problem”. As a category you
move from “people who are...” say male, or black, or gay to
“people who experience...” say headaches, delusions of grandeur,
same-sex attraction. In so doing you open the door not only to fully
embrace the “love the sinner, hate the sin” nonsense but also,
more significantly, to the fact that “people who experience”
something can generally become “people who used to experience”
it. So what seems at first to be a value neutral descriptor suddenly
becomes loaded with justifications for gay cures.
