The Sound of the Liturgy, How words work in Worship by Cally Hammond

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I think that Hammond is essentially arguing form my default position, many of her assumptions about the way different aspects of Worship impact on the Worshipper seem to tie in to certain learning styles / personality types – those of us who like to think slowly and value the familiar with the opportunity to go deeper into the meaning with each repletion.

Therefore I am not sure overall how persuasive her arguments are, to me as reader she is preaching to the converted – but I am well aware that many (most) people don't actually think like me, and I am learning to accept that doesn't automatically make them wrong.

But what is it that she has to say?

One stream of thought is very much about “words”.

The push for “plain-English” creates poor liturgy – she dares to admit that “I risked the loss of an immediately clear meaning for the sake of giving more depth and nuance...”

This is a trend not limited to the Church, as an aside I have noticed that South West Trains have reworded their “security announcement” so that we are no longer urged to report things we find “suspicious” but instead things that “don't look/feel right”... clearly somebody somewhere has determined that the average passenger does not have the vocabulary to understand the word “suspicious”!

Linked to this is the point is that the liturgy needs to be made up of “words worth repeating often” - one of the dangers of the specially printed service sheet is that the “words” become as disposable as the paper they are printed on – single use liturgy by its very nature probably needs to engage you with the surface meanings of the words.

Sometimes you can say something new by using new words, sometimes you can say something new by using the same words in a different context. There are strengths and weaknesses to both approaches.

But then for a book about “words” a significant chapter is given over to posture, and to be honest I found this the most engaging part.

One key statement is her assertion that “the most authentic liturgical practice is not the equivalent of the oldest, or best attested, or 'original'.” This rejects the liturgical “archaeology” of the twentieth century – that the primitive Church did such and such practice does not justify our doing it. But this does not, for me, mean that we have complete licence to liturgical innovation – the authentic should be rooted in its community, we need to learn and inhabit liturgy. We might renew our liturgy, but it is good for us to make body of habits that hold collective meaning for us.

Taking one liturgical practice which often causes lively debate. Hammond points to a difficulty in westward facing Eucharistic celebrations – while it brings priest and people face to face, it can cloud the fact that both priest and people are addressing God (and not each other). I realise that the message of the priest with his or her back to the people is not easy to interpret – but the alternative is perhaps easy to misinterpret as a human dialogue rather than divine worship, or that the priest is the centre of attention, when everyone should be “looking” beyond to God.

Without wanting to tell tales, at St Michael's, Southampton City Centre, a couple of years ago we moved the weekday communion from a side chapel (where the altar is against the wall) to the nave (where the priest can face the people). In the chapel the 10 or so folk in the congregation were gathered closely together, now we are scattered around the nave. And for me the sense of community of the service as been lost for the slim advantage of see the priest face as he intercedes on our behalf (also they are now much further away – the first pew in the nave is a greater distance from the altar than the back row in the chapel).

We have largely lost a sense of posture as powerful, and Hammond makes good arguments for its recovery – for example that kneeling to confess gives the whole body, along with the mind, a humble aspect – and as I have said before the movement from my knees in confession to standing and proudly singing the Gloria is a great reminder of the sacramental transformation – kneeling is not about grovelling but about acknowledging that we stand before the Lord by grace alone.

Finally, in a comment on the content of liturgy (and critique of those who over indulge in “Jesus is my Boyfriend” choruses) she quotes Bruce Willis, in Die Hard, “She's heard me say 'I love you' a thousand times. She never heard my say 'I'm sorry'” - anyone who can make a valid theological point by quoting Bruce Willis is definitely a friend of my.

Amusing Ourselves to Death, Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business by Neil Postman

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While this book was published in 1985, and it sees television as the source of all that is wrong with the world, (one feels that if Postman watched GoggleBox he might well throw himself of the nearest cliff), it is very easy to transfer the arguments forward 30 years and hit “find and replace”, exchanging Television for Facebook/Google etc, and retain a coherent argument without need for further amendment.

As an example try replacing television for Google in the following paragraph:

“Television is the command center in subtler ways as well. Our use of other media, for example, is largely orchestrated by television. Through it we learn what telephone system to use, what movies to see, what books, records and magazines to buy, what radio programmes to listen to. Television arranges our communications environment for us in ways that no other medium has the power to do.”

But then, while the book is powerful and persuasive, as I progressed through it I did get the nagging doubt. That Postman in 1985 was lamenting the demise of public discourse in essentially the exact same terms as many in the UK are now doing post the EU referendum perhaps points to the fact that it has been ever thus. Although nostalgia is not what it used to be, people have been lamenting the demise in public discourse since at least the time of Plato.

That Postman is writing in the context of Reagan lends itself to the drawing of parallels to Trump – that a mere film star was elected President offended the sensibilities of many in the 1980s, the worry that it was not Trump the “businessman” but Trump the “reality TV celebrity” that got elected that has many currently running scared.

One of the current great tensions is that because social media is “unfiltered” there is no way to limit the circulation of “fake” news. To quote from Postman again “Walter Lippmann, for example wrote in 1920: 'There can be no liberty for a community which lacks the means by which to detect lies.' … [he assumed] that with a well-trained press functioning as a lie-detector... the public could not be indifferent to their consequences.” - The press have largely lost control of content that the public encounter, but, if we think about Hillsbourgh and The Sun, even when the press were in control and filtering content it is difficult to characterise them as either a lie-detector or well-trained. So again while the mechanisms are different I am not sure it the outcomes are materially different.

But on one point Postman is insightful – he trys to shift us from seeing Orwell's state censorship as the threat to Huxley's Brave New World of pleasure seeking self censorship – we are definitely the generation who played Pokemon Go while Rome burns, even if Rome has always been burning.

After you'd gone by Maggie O'Farrell

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I guess I should begin with the usual “spoiler” warning – as this is a complex narrative which is revealed in layers – therefore I will probably end up giving at least some of the story away.

This is a bitter-sweet narrative, populated with women who love deeply and yet in various ways are suffering as a consequence. Although it takes two to tango, this is the story of three generations of women, the men exist only as the context for the women's lives and love.

The account of Alice's grief is almost overwhelming – a testament to O'Farrell's skill that she breathes such authenticity to her writing. But there is a purity in the love, and the loss, of Alice, while the loves of her mother and grandmother are more complex.

The patterning of relationships across the generations, for example that all three women have been swept up in a whirlwind of love at first sight, raises questions about destiny – how much are we independent actors, how much are the boundaries of our lives pre-defined? Perhaps there are also questions of nature vs nurture within that too.

I am not sure if the fact that I ended up worrying about who was feeding the cat is a signal that I was distracted from the main narrative or a strength because I was so drawn into the world O'Farrell was creating that a starving cat was a genuine concern.

Shrines of the Saints in England and Wales by Michael Tavinor

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This book provides a gazetteer of the principal shrines, and the historical facts of their origin, reformation destruction, and recent renaissance.

I found it unfortunate that the “experience” of the shrines was restricted to a 6 page postscript. The book addressed the “what” but despite its billing, for me, failed to address more interesting question of “why”.

Conchie, What my Father didn't do in the War by Gethin Russell-Jones

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There might be a concern that a Son writing the biography of his Father would tend towards hagiography, but Gethin paints a picture of his Father, John, that is honest about his weaknesses and flaws. That this is his second book following on from the account he co-authored with his Mother of her service at Bletchley Park.

That as fiancées one was a conscientious objector and the other a government code breaker can not have been entirely easy and yet it seems that it did not significantly impact on their relationship.

Out of the questions that Gethin, in writing the book, is clearly trying to work through is why his Father decided to formally register as a conscientious objector given as a student minister he was already exempt from military service. Such was his commitment to the pacifist essence of Christ's teaching that John felt compelled to make a public witness and actively reject military service and not simply rest passively on the exemption he already held.

Having made this public stand early in the war, during his studies his beliefs evolved, moving from a social gospel to a more “hard-line” Calvinist position – and there is a certain frustration in Gethin that despite this bold stand his Father did not continue as an activist, and indeed during his childhood his Father hardly spoke about being a pacifist.

But although the emphasis of John's belief shifted there is no suggestion that he actually rejected his pacifist or embraced militarism. There are pointers to him remaining a bit apart from his Calvinist colleagues – that he was not someone to adopt a “party's” beliefs as a package, but would form his own views on each matter. There is a “chicken and egg” question here, were his idiosyncratic beliefs the cause or consequence of him being a bit of a loner?

It is an engaging exploration of a man who, faced with the great tide of historical events, was prepared and able to stand up alone for his beliefs.

Real Newport by Ann Drysdale

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This book rejoices in the ordinary, a “guidebook” that the tourist board might not exactly sign up to, but the emphasis is on the “real” not the “airbrushed”. This is warts and all writing, but from an affectionate perspective, honest not critical.

Ann Drysdale writes with a witty charm, in the preface series editor Peter Finch describes it as “outbeat”, and I think I might have share an outbeat mind with Ann, as the slight flights of fancy that her mind takes her on as she encounters and describes the city seem very familiar to me.

I found something a little akin to Southampton, a city which I think is also uncertain about its identity. Southampton famed as the home port of great cruise liners, past and present, (as well as flying boats in their day). While vast numbers of tourists come to Southampton, their general intention is to past as quickly as possible through it to the beginning of their holiday, holding it with a similar affection as you might Terminal 2 at Heathrow. I often think the welcome signs on the city limits should declare “Southampton, the city people love to leave!”. While it is a great port, the city essentially has its back to the water – that city planners felt the need to rename of the High Street “QE2 Mile” is really one of those Orwellian proofs of the disconnection.

Interspersed throughout the book are Ann's poems, mostly written in response to past encounters with the city, evidence of an ongoing relationship, which add warmth of feeling in the book.

What a way to go by Julia Forster

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I found this a really special book, Julia Forster, writing as the 12 year old Harper Richardson, captures an amazingly authentic voice.

The complexities of the lives of the adults around Harper are really just a backdrop to Harper's exploration of person-hood.

I found great affinity with Harper, like her I was a 12 year old with a tendency to over think things, with a tendency to obsession and fantasy, maybe not getting the wrong “end” of the stick but often grabbing in the middle, and as much as it pains me to admit it, a 12 year old who thought their shell-suit was the height of sophistication (while I now chose different fabrics, to be honest, I am still faithful to its colour combinations, it was bloody brilliant).

I want to write an extensive review because I want to tell you how much I loved this book, was almost hypnotised by it, but I am finding it hard to pin point what it is that made this book such a success for me.

Maybe it was the little touches, Harper is a bit of a Charles and Diana fan, and as a child born in the same mouth as their wedding it took some reconciliation when it turned out that my Charles and Di wedding mug couldn't really have pride of place on the shelf any more. Also her brush with protest, via CND, chimed with the defining experience of, age 5, being part of “Walk for the World” - although I perhaps need to quiz my parents about exactly what the campaign objectives of that walk were?

Ultimately this was a book that spoke deeply into my soul, and said you are not alone. (which doesn't get awkward until you remind me that Harper is fictional...)

The Bereavement of the Lion-Keeper by Sheenagh Pugh

The Bereavement of the Lion-Keeper by Sheenagh Pugh, in Later Selected Poems

Can be found on Amazon 

for Sheraq Omar

Who stayed, long after his pay stopped,

in the zoo with no visitors,

just keepers and captives, moth-eaten,

growing old together.

Who begged for meat in the market-place

as times grew hungrier,

and cut it up small to feed him,

since his teeth were gone.

Who could stoke his head, who know,

how it felt to plunge fingers

into rough glowing fur, who has heard

the deepest purr in the world.

Who curled close to him, wrapped in his warmth,

his pungent scent, as the bombs feel,

who has seen him asleep so often,

but never like this.

Who knew that elderly lions

were not immortal, that it was bound

to happen, that he died peacefully,

in the course of nature,

but who knows no way to let go

of love, to walk out of sunlight,

to be an old man in a city

without a lion.

Buying Vinyl by Sheenagh Pugh

Buying Vinyl by Sheenagh Pugh, in Later Selected Poems 

Can be found on Amazon  

I was asking Cal about floor coverings

- I knew it was Cal because his cardboard badge

said Cal in black felt-tip. What I needed

was six metres of wood-effect vinyl

on a roll, and a good reason to fix

Cal's eyes with mine for a few moments

while I told him about it. They were brown,

far darker than the vinyl, forest-pool-effect.

I showed him what I wanted, and he nodded

and said “yes, right away” and spread

the stuff out on the floor and knelt down.

The back of his neck looked as untouched

as new snow. He glanced up under his eyebrows,

shy and said, “Do me a favour,

hold this still?” So I did, kneeling

beside him at the edge, pressing my hand

where his had been, while he laid

his long steel rile close to the roll

and cut. Clean, straight, beautiful.

I said, “You're good at that” and he smiled,

and I thought, You can't be more than seventeen.

He rolled it tight, not easy, the tip

of his tongue just showing, and I wanted

to help, but he hadn't asked, and I was meant

to be the customer, after all.

I'm three times your age. And he mastered it.

All tied up firmly. I was proud of him.

He puzzled for a moment, licked

the end of his biro, then wrote the bill.

“You pay them over there.” It was good value,

I thought, as I checked the VAT,

and he hadn't even charged for the smile.

Pause: Rewind by Sheenagh Pugh,

Pause: Rewind bySheenagh Pugh, in Later Selected Poems 

Can be found on Amazon 

Nowadays the dead walk and talk

in the wedding video, the camcorded break,

the fuzzed black-and-white of security cameras.

A policeman watches as two balaclavas

burst, again and again, through the door

of an off-licence, and the old shopkeeper

panics, blunders into a baseball bat,

slumps in his blood. Before things can get

any worse, the young PC presses 'pause',

then 'rewind'. And the dark stream flows

into the head again; the old fellow

gets up. The thieves are backing jerkily through

the door, which closes on them. All right,

all tidy. This could get to be a habit:

so many tapes he could whizz backwards.

The bus and bike, speeding to the crossroads,

will not collide, the drunk at the hotel

will stop short of his car, the young girl

will never disappear down the subway

where her rapist waits so patiently.

Pause: rewind. Freeze-frame where you want

the world to stop. The moment before the moment,

before Challenger leaves the launch pad,

before the boat sails or the letter's posted,

before the singer jumps of the bridge,

before you see the face that ends your marriage,

before the pink suit is dyed red,

before a thought is formed or a word said.

An Archaeology of Town Commons in England By M Bowden, G Brown, and N Smith

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Despite being an English Heritage monograph this is an engaging read, it includes plenty of incident and anecdotes which give colour to the formal archaeological descriptions. That Tewkesbury and Southampton feature heavily added additional interest for me knowing both these places pretty well.

That the Commons were the setting for the kinds of activities that have generally been overlooked by “historians” means the study of them adds important breath to the understanding of “urban” life, indeed the agricultural use of these Town Commons points to the fact that the idea of “urban” has only really had a force in the last century or century and a half.

Ancient Christian Worship by Andrew B McGowan

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By “Ancient” McGowan refers to the period up until, give or take a bit, 400 AD. Christian Worship in this early era is not without study but one of the important aspects of McGowan consideration is that he looks at it on its own merits when most others have really only been using the worship of this period as a way of explaining later practice.

This lens of later worship has tended to distort the analysis, those pieces of evidence that supported narratives of continuity with later practice were privileged, evidence that didn't fit marginalised. But by trying to avoid this process of reading backwards into the evidence McGowan shows a much more varied and at times surprising range of worship within the early Church.

He reinforces the need to demolish the appeal to the early Church as the basis for modern practice. There was never a singular “pure” worship. We have to establish our practice on its own merits not quasi-archaeological foundations. Given the diversity of worship that seems to have been present in the early church it is remarkable the extent of homogeneity that has prevailed in later centuries – even when we are revelling in contemporary Fresh Expressions they are actually all within a relatively limited ball park.

The other message, not unique to this work but worth recalling, is the relationship between Jewish and Christian worship in this period. The idea that Christian worship is an evolution from Jewish worship is not really supported by the evidence, given the very significant changes that occurred within the Jewish tradition in this period. McGowan concludes that “the developing Christian and Jewish liturgical traditions and their uses of Sabbath and Sunday are better seen as taking their bearings from one another; the Jewish tradition in later does not preceded or explain Christian practice."

For example many like to explore the Seder meal as a way of engaging with the origins of the Eucharist. Even if you accept that the Eucharist has its primary origin in the Last Supper, and the Last Supper was a Passover meal (both of which are contestable assertions), the Passover meal of Jesus' day was not the Seder meal as it is now received. The Seder meal took on much of its current shape after the destruction of the Temple, and so its development occurred alongside that of the Eucharist. When we see similarities between the two, it is as likely that the Jews “borrowed” it from their Christian neighbours, as it is Jewish Christians carried their past practice into the life of the Church. The same can be said about other practices as well.

I would definitely recommend this well written and readable study.

Messy Togetherness by Martyn Payne

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I will begin by putting my hand up to the fact that there is something about “Messy Church” that grates for me. I seem to have a similar reaction to mention of Messy Church as Miranda Hart has to her on-screen Mother declaring “Such fun!”...

However Messy Church is clearly a valuable vehicle for organising the energy of churches towards engaging with new people and therefore it should be commended, but that does not excluded the possibility to question and to probe this book, and perhaps the wider concepts.

This book, one of a number published to deepen the understanding of those providing Messy Church, looks particularly at the “intergenerational” element of Messy Church, that they are not events for “Children” but for “All-Ages”. I guess there are those out there that don't understand this point and will benefit from having it explained at length – but if you get the point that successful communities bring people together rather than segregating them you will probably feel like a grandmother being taught to suck eggs.

While Messy Church is big on intergenerational engagement, that parents/grandparents should be doing the craft/eating/worhsiping along with their children, the model is firmly based around families. Payne states at one point that Messy Church “is definitely not just a church for children and their carers” and will include unaccompanied adults (children must be accompanied as it is not child care). However, other than those that are helping run the event I find it hard to imagine an adult feeling engaged in the activities if they are not with a child. I had this sense a throughout the book, but when I got to the session outlines at the end it was really confirmed, even as someone that likes “craft” I would feel monumentally conspicuous participating in any of the sessions described without co-opting a child as cover. This does not invalidate Messy Church, but I think perhaps it would be better for them to temper their claims to have a universal model.

There were also some points where Payne's tone seemed to be paternalistic, even patronising. For example, he reflects that the families that will be coming will increasingly be “messy”, by which he means differing from the “standard” Mum and Dad, who married before having children, and haven't got divorced. They might be single parents, they might be step-children, and so on. He is telling the reader that for Messy Church to be a success they need to be ready to welcome and embrace this range of family set-ups, which is all to the good, but there is something about the way he expresses this that suggests someone living in a middle-class bubble about 30 years behind the times. While the message is that you do Messy Church with those that come, not to or at them, I do wonder how often that ideal is missed.

At the end of the book is a “health check for a Messy Church”, which is 4 pages of mostly inane questions, but within that list there were 4 which caught my eye and I think should perhaps be printed at the end of every order of service...

- What made you go “wow”?

- What made you wince?

- What made you wonder?

- What made you worry?

… I think these would have a provocative power, as all to often most people's response to all of these would be “nothing”, are we brave enough to risk finding out that the our worship leaves even those that come indifferent?

Golden Hill by Francis Spufford

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The setting of this tale is fascinating, we think we know New York, but going back this far in the city's history is rare. For most the colonial history of what became the USA is overlooked – history began again with the War of Independence, yet here we have stepped back beyond that dividing line. It is a city (or rarely a town) that celebrates the King's Birthday and Bonfire Night – a little bit of England beyond the sea.

And into this carefully crafted setting Spufford provides a rich and well balanced cast of characters. As part of the twists of the plot we do not get to know the central character Smith completely, and perhaps because of this Spufford avoids becoming drawn exclusively to Smith and gives the other characters real weight as well.

The story is full of incident, a certain about of it humorous bordering on farce and yet somehow never ridiculous – you brought into it all. This allowed Spufford to side step the trap that many historical novels fall into, becoming so wrapped up in historical details that they become a lecture rather than a novel.

Running through the novel is the question “who is Smith?” - a question he asks himself as often as those around him. I will not reveal the answer, but I think the answer when you get to it still feels partial or provisional – what happens next after the narrative's end probably will be the true test of Smith – and we are left to wonder, left to weave, that answer for ourselves.

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan

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McEwan powerfully captures the sense of a world that is about to change but hasn't yet. Even in 1962 these young newly weds are effectively living in the 1940s. The teenager is yet to be invented, the summer of love not even on the horizon.

This is an exploration of possibilities that can not be realised, social norms weigh heavily on Florence and Edward. How hard it is to share you true thoughts and desires, even with those you are closest too.

McEwan probably doesn't need additional praise from me...

Physical Evidence for Ritual Acts, Sorcery and Witchcraft in Christian Britain Ed. Ronald Hutton

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This is a fascinating collection in a number of ways.

Firstly, particularly in the essays by Champion and by Easton, looking at ritual markings made in Churches and in domestic and other settings is the way that you see what you are looking for. Most people have avoided giving “meaning” to graffiti within Churches as it did not fit with their narrative of Christian belief, but look again with a different lens and there is so much meaning being inscribed on the walls (even if the exact meaning is not available to us).

The second point would be the continuity that a lot of the evidence points to, there are region variations and there are evolutions through time, but the picture is generally one characterised more by continuity than diversity. One of the questions this prompts is what caused these practices to endure – and a key part of the answer must be that at some level the practices “worked”. There must have been enough cases where people saw the desired outcome followed the action (even if scientists would point to coincidence rather than causation) to keep the practice alive. Also, as those of us who pray would be able to share, even in the absence of the desired outcome the fact that you have done something, be that making a charm or saying a prayer etc., brings a comfort.

Moving on from this, there is a wider point that there is a whole range of ritual and belief that is generally dismissed as “folk religion” which we should be much more attentive to. One of my questions would be the way these studies, despite seeing long histories in the practices described, set themselves as “historical” studies. There seems to be few connections made to contemporary practice. That the search “charms” returns over 2 million results in ebay would suggest there is a living tradition out there. The way that so many people engage with the act of lighting a candle in a church or cathedral quite separate from any structure of Christian belief that “the Church” would recognise is another token of this. It seems quiet clear to me that the beliefs of ordinary people are no more shaped by the “secular” orthodoxies of the likes of Dawkins and co than they were by Medieval priests and prelates.

Bishops by Michael Keilemans

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This book is made up of a number of distinct parts, and it is unfortunate that the last part is the weakest as that tends to mean that the impression you take away and remember is that weakness.

Chapters 1 to 5 give an historical overview, of Bishops in the early church and then, from Christianity arrival in Britain, with a focus on their development with in the UK.

Chapter 6 looks at the socio-economic make up of English Bishops between 1905 and 2005, and points to the fact that although there have been some shifting trends in levels of public school education and choice of University in reality the background of the bench of Bishops remains firmly establishment – and the elite end of the establishment at that.

Chapter 7 takes the same socio-economic look at Welsh Bishops, and the most interesting thing is probably that the disestablishment of the Church in Wales in 1920 has not fundamentally changed the leadership of the Church.

Chapter 8 looks as Scotland, and here there is a real contrast – while Anglicans in England and Wales are the Church of the establishment, even after “disestablishment” in Wales, fellow Episcopalians in Scotland are a minority and marginal Church, and so their Bishops are rather different characters.

Chapter 9 gives some supplemental remarks on contemporary thinking on the episcoal role.

Chapters 10 and 11 provide the results of questionnaire survey that Keulemans undertook of recently retired Bishops. Within this that Bishops rated “problematic clergy” as their biggest frustration and “pastoral care of clergy” as their biggest satisfaction is interesting, especially when coupled with a majority of Clergy saying they would turn to Bishop for help but only a minority being able to say they felt they had actually been helped by Bishop. This points to the dysfunctional relationships within the structures of the Church.

And finally Chapter 12 entitled “Where do we go from here?” which lacked any meaningful grounding in the preceding evidence base presented and unfortunately is little more than an opinionated rant.

Limestone Man by Robert Minhinnick

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Minhinnick writes prose with a strong sense of poetry, powerful imagery, but also the layering on meaning, the hint, the metaphor, the illusion as much as the allusion. The counterpoints of south Wales and Australia are both given an air of simultaneous authenticity and unreality.

This is a book running across multiple chronologies and geographies, and even when you are in one chronology you are having a flash back to another. Therefore there is nothing recognisable as a narrative arch – but I don't think that is the point.

The heart of the novel seems to be the question “what happened to Lulu?” but it is a question that is never remotely answered. (One begins to wonder did Lulu ever exist? Did anyone exist for that matter?)

The central character Richard muses “ As ever, we wondered whether there was anyone left who wasn't phoney. Because we were the real thing. Weren't we? We were the last of the prue. The founders of a new age.”

And yet you have the sense that Richard is the biggest phoney of the lot – maybe that is the only way you can ever actually live by the saying “be the change you wish to see”, you have to pretend the world is a better place than it is, pretend that you are a better person than you really are, and hope somewhere along the line reality catches up?

The Greatest Need, Biography of Lily Tobias by Jasmine Donahaye

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In exploring the life of writer and campaigner Lily Tobias, Donahaye also explores both Welsh and Israeli identities. To be engrossed in the biography of a writer whose work I have never read demonstrates the skill of Donahaye.

The very concept of being an “Israeli” is something that comes into being during Lily Tobias' life. When she first leaves Wales she moves to Palestine, she is a British (Welsh) Jew living in Palestine. When she returns from wartime exile in South Africa it is to Israel she “returns” to – although while she never lived permanently in Britain again she never gave up her British Citizenship, so perhaps at some levels never become an Israeli.

In her early live, Lily's experience of being a Welsh Jew Women is one of multi-layered “minorities” (Women have never been a numerical minority but the early 20^th Century was a society essentially structured as if they were...).

The violent death of her husband in Palestine very clearly shaped the whole of the rest of her life, a reminder of how long violence can have a hold over a person, and in a land of such violence, how very very long the process of healing will be even once peace is achieved.

The shift from her early pacifism to later belief in “just war” in defence of the Jewish homeland, a transition for which her husband's murder was the main catalysis if not necessary the only cause, is a sad one. How she would have responded to intensified conflict between Israeli and Palestinians in the decades since her death (in 1984) can only ever be speculation.

Donahaye gives a sympathetic but not an airbrushed account of Lily's life, and is willing to point out that not all her views sit that easily in contemporary contexts, but she was a women of her time, and her views are understandable if where we might now find them difficult to defend.

Celebrating Christian Initiation by Simon Jones

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This is an example of the real strength of the Alcuin Club, it provides a truly comprehensive guide to the current liturgical provision for Baptism, and other rites of initiation, within the Church of England. It provides a mix of theological reflection and practical guidance.

There are a lot of “how to” guides written, but they generally look to innovate without providing the baseline practice. This guide helps us understand what the ordinary practice of Baptism should be like, what it should be like when it is at its best. In many cases I tend to feel that we feel the need to innovate more because we do the ordinary badly rather than because the ordinary can not provide for the community or people we wish to engage.

Also I would suggest that we mostly find things within the liturgy cold or clunky because we have failed to understand their purpose – and if we (those engaged in preparing and leading the liturgy) haven't understood why we are doing things, what chance do those coming to receive the liturgy have. I don't think that an encounter with the liturgy depends on any prior theological knowledge or understanding – if liturgy has integrity it should be self-explanatory (and by that I definitely do not mean that each liturgical action should be explained – meaning should be communicated through the action not separate from it – much like jokes, liturgy you “have” to explain has essentially failed).

Lovesongs & Reproaches By L. William Countryman

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This collection is in the tradition of the Psalms, full of passion, rejoicing in the goodness of God and Creation, and yet also raging against the ills of Creation and the God that seems to stand by and let it happen. This is a really rich and powerful collection.

Of these latter day psalms I find that many of those I have tabbed for future reference reflect on the challenge of capturing ideas about God within our language, for example here is an extract of one;

... Your beauty is beyond our power

to express. It draws us; we respond.

We never grasp it, reduce it

successfully to words. And we never stop

trying...

There is a powerful connection between age old ideas and modern cadences, as an example;

… My gratitude mixes itself

with the guilt of a survivor. I wonder

if I am one of those rich that Amos

denounced for battening off the poor.

I suppose I am. How does anyone

live in the tangle of our times

without being a part of the web

of unequal exchange?

And from another one;

… Your Spirit is well-named, as busy

and untiring as the wind, as close to us

as our breath; and we never know

if the initiative is hers or ours.

Perhaps it is both. Even she

cannot play violin on a drum.

She plays the instrument she finds.

Under the Fig Tree By Roger Hutchison

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To bring words and imagines together is to enrich both, both the prayers and the pictures had a simplicity about them which gives plenty of space for your our thoughts and reactions to take shape. I mostly took just one at a time to allow depth of encounter. Some were a figurative response to the ideas of the prayer, others more abstract. Some of the prayers had a liturgical feel, others were more loose, starting points for meditation.

Although this book is sub-titled “Visual prayers and poems for Lent” I am not sure I found anything especially Lenten about it. It arrived at the start of May, and I worked my way through in it over the next few weeks, and although this was Easter it didn't seem too out of season.

Lapsed Agnostic by John Waters

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This is the second of John Waters books I have read, and once again I struggled as for the most part I find him long winded and self indulgent – bit in the midst of that there are moments of insight – pearls within the silt.

There were moments of interest, like when he talks about as an adult starting to pray, and how he knelt to pray – while recognising that there isn't any “need” to kneel to pray he found “It began to suggest itself as important for me to have this different posture, if only to distinguish the procedure and mark it as having at least as much significance as eating and sleeping.” (p99) In our current laissez-faire liturgical culture I think we miss out of sharing this reality with people. For me to kneel for the Confession, and then, after the Absolution, to stand for the Gloria is not empty ritual habit, it is a bodily enactment of a transition from being weighed down with the burden of sin to standing in a state of grace before the Lord. I would not insist that everyone need to adopt the posture, but I think we should share the ways in which deliberate posture can enrich the encounter, the liturgy is not just words you say, but can be expressed with your body, with the whole of your being. (perhaps the “hands in the air” brigade need to owe up to that fact that they equally subscribe to this...).

The other theme I found important was his reflection on the shift, within Irish society but applicable to most of the West, from a society shaped by Christian faith to one without a coherent common moral framework. He writes, “Nor can a society successfully remain agnostic in the way an individual may seem to. The unbelieving individual, in a broadly believing society, can function well by availing himself of the slipstream and buffering provided by the faith of others … [but] an overwhelmingly unbelieving society, once it exhausts the imaginative possibilities of money and other freedoms, is doomed to a form of collective depression.” (p171)

He talks about our reaction against the faith, and constraints, of our parents – but worries about what will become of the next generation – the children of the “faithless” will have no reference point to frame their morals or identity. This is based on the assumption that most of those brought up “within the Church” when they leave continue with a “Christianity-Lite” moral framework. We might recognise this from UK census data, where the percentage identifying as Christian far outweighs those who participate in “Church”. What is our common bond as a society? – in the shadow of the EU referendum you might have thought that this would be central to the public debate – but the question of what sort of country we want to be has barely been mentioned.

And then he particularly speaks to me when he speaks of alcohol...

“My problem derived from the fact that I needed alcohol in order to be even a shadow of a sociable human being. On the surface I was simply a young man who had perhaps become over-exuberant in his indulgence in the bottle... [but what I learnt] after I stopped drinking was the ubiquitousness of fear in my life. Without knowing it, I had been afraid of everything: meeting people, conversation, waking up in the morning … work, responsibilities, police officers... I was afraid of big things and small things.... Drink cured all that, or, to be absolutely precise, I was relieved from all this fear when I had taken drink.” (p75)

Sometimes it is hard to look in a mirror, but it is also hard to know how to respond. Self awareness doesn't actually take you that far. I know that there are lots of situations that make me anxious, and one of the reasons I tend to drink is to take that anxiety away – it is partly the chemical relief, but it is equally psychosomatic – just knowing I have had a drink I somehow go into the room more confident. It is not an issue one can “fix” but there are perhaps strategies to manage it more effectively. It is also an issue of habits, a drink goes along with an activity, and it is hard to break that link (eg drinking on the long train journey, drinking when you are cooking dinner, drinking when you get in from PCC, I probably shouldn't try to list all the activities which I accompany with a drink!) and the individual drinks are not the problem it is the cumulative effect...

Stilling the Strom Edited by John Vincent

This collection of reflections on Mark's telling of the Stilling of the Storm, when Jesus is woken from sleep by the disciples fearful that the Storm will sink their boat, is full of intriguing ideas. This is a slim volume, but packed with such a range to ideas it is hard to do justice to it. Instead I will just share a few of the ideas that particular caught my attention.

Ian Wallis paints a picture, that is perhaps a little too familiar “Every church community inherits Jesus sleeping in the stern. How he got there no-one quiet remembers. In fact, the existence of the boat is equally inexplicable. As is the crew among whom we find ourselves numbered and the voyage on which we're set. We trust all this once made sense and was persuasive. That, awake, Jesus demanded attention and attracted supporters willing to venture beyond familiar waters in pursuit of God's kingdom causes. But none of the original recruits survives, not even their successors. And the vessel has been en route for so many generations that the Galilean shoreline from which in embarked is barely visible, a distant speck on history's horizon. Speculation over where the boast is heading and the purpose of the journey fills the airwaves. And the only person able to supply an answer remains dead to the world.”

One of the features of Mark's telling is that the boat in which Jesus and the disciples are crossing the lake is not alone, there is mention of “other boats” also making the journey, and this allows a number of expansive readings of the story.

Christopher Burdon explores this, recalling working with a group who are asked to imagine their role in the story and there reactions. One reflected “I wasn't in that boat with Jesus and the disciples. I was one of the crowd who got into one of those other boats. I don't know what's happened to us.” Jesus stilled the storm and provided safety to those in his boat – but what of the others? Maybe they were left sinking? How often is our concern, when we are really honest about it, limited by the boundaries of our Church?

Meanwhile, Neil Richardson cautions to over playing the story, “It does not mean that God underwrites all our ways of being church. But the story does mean that a church, which even in its unbelief, cries out to God, will not be overcome.” Here, as so often, the disciples weren't “getting it right” but Jesus still responds to their need.

We can build on that when David Blather Wick notes that “Running through the conversation in 4.38-40 is the question “Who is in charge of the boat?” Clearly the disciples think Jesus is, just as we tend to think God is in our lives. Jesus says they are.” this is a profound reversal, we want someone else to sort our lives out for us, but Jesus reminds us that we have free will, accountability, therefore it is down to our initiative to make the difference.

Perhaps thinking about the story in another way, Louise J. Lawrence wrote that “Over the last couple of decades as a result of these social trends, there has been a marked interest in “places” which are defined as having a shared community story... [while there has been a rise in “non-places”] … People can operate within them alone and anonymously. Supermarkets, airport lounges, chain-dominated high streets... When communities don't communicate, not only is a rich vein of experience left un-mined (an old saying in Africa goes “when a person dies a library burns down”) they also literally forget who they collectively are. The world is increasingly suffering from this corporate amnesia and does so at its peril.”

Lawrence quotes Lane that Jesus knows “that places on the edge, those considered God-forsaken by many, are where his identity as Messiah has to be revealed … ever dragging his disciples away from the familiarity of home, he declares present the power of the kingdom in the alien landscapes of another land”

Lawrence goes on that “This was echoed in responses from a rural community in Dartmoor who, while bemoaning that fact that their rector was no longer resident in the village, nevertheless saw that this had led to the empowerment of others to take on ministry in all its forms within their context. Due to the changing nature of “place” the “crew” really does need to be envisaged in a much wider sense than just stipendiary priests. Lay led initiatives need to be encouraged and developed. Likewise any collective movements in the locality which support or regenerate community also need to be supported by the church.... If the “all hands on deck” ethos is not promoted, the church becomes less a missionary-led fishing trawler with a proactive crew and more a passenger ferry with passive travellers. Such ships are heavy and hard to handle, difficult to get on board, and ill equipped to reach those at sea-level within a storm.”

The Talk of the Town by Ardal O'Hanlon

Can be found on Amazon

This was another book picked up from Oxfam before our holiday, I hadn't even noticed that it was Ardal O'Hanlon of Father Ted fame.

I probably need to give the standard spoiler warning...

This is a dark tale, a “tragedy” in the formal sense of that word.

It took me a while to get that the two tracks of story telling, the first person narrative of Patrick and the diary of Francesca, were not just different view points but also separate chronologies. This is a token of the fact that while Patrick and Francesca were in a relationship they were never quite having a shared experience.

At one level it is a tale of teenage angst, but it is not simply that. Although it is never explicitly referenced I assume that Patrick is placed somewhere on the autistic spectrum – there are certain attributes, such as his habit of memorising all the number plates in the town, which are stereotypes of that spectrum, while we might also look in this direction as an explanation of his complete failure to understand how Francesca was feeling.

Francesca equally might be suffering from anxiety, is she “just shy” or is there something more? That she attempts to break away from Patrick on a number of times during the book, and yet when the next chapter comes along and she is back with him (if she was ever away) it is heart-rending. What is it that brings her back, is the pain of being with Patrick really better than the desolation of being alone?

As the book progresses Patrick definitely becomes an unsympathetic character, life may not of dealt him the best of hands but he doesn't even use what he has been given to his advantage, but I am much more conflicted about Francesca. SPOILER – as she ends up dead, she is the victim. For that I feel sorry for her, but I am not sure that I like her.

The cover of the book is full of reviews that found it “funny” - I am not sure if they read the same book, there were moments of dark comedy, but that is not the stand out impression. It is a powerful narrative, bleak, unpleasant, but once you are in it, perhaps a bit like Francesca, it takes hold of you.

After me comes the flood by Sarah Perry

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I was worried that I didn't actually have enough books to keep me going on our recent holiday and so a picked up a few, largely at random, from the Oxfam bookshop – it was entirely a case of judging books by their covers!

This is a vivid novel, the writing gives you a strong sense of place and of person. But does it go deeper than that, I am not sure? The arrival at a house populated by a collection of characters with complex back stories has an air of Iris Murdoch, but I feel that it has only the air and unfortunately lacks the substance.

This is a first novel, and so one does not want to push too hard, but there were a few points that jarred – for example, there are some anonymous letters being send and one of the characters reflecting on this finds it hard to imagine who would do such a thing because “this is not a novel” - and it was one of the moment and almost shouting at the book “yes it bloody is...”. More famous writers than Perry have erred in the same way, so while I count it unforgivable I don't judge her too harshly.

If you need a holiday read you will be well served.

Tunes of Glory by James Kennaway

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A well constructed novel, it creates a claustrophobic world in which people are seeking belonging and identity – the two main protagonists, Sinclair and Barrow, have little in common expect that sorrowful desire.

Sinclair struggles to find a purpose in Army life in peacetime, Barrow perhaps with life in general.

It is set in the late forties or early fifties yet the world it creates often feels further removed from us than that – perhaps the cold of a Victorian Barracks held them suspended in time?

The Binding of Isaac, A Religious Model of Disobedience by Omri Boehm

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This is one of the sources referred to in James Goodman's excellent book Abraham and his Son with I have reviewed elsewhere on this blog.

The key element that Boehm considers is the textual evidence that the intervention by the Angel to stop Abraham sacrificing Isaac is a later addition. The Angel speaks twice during the story, and there is wild consensus that the second occasion is an addition, but most have assumed that the first is an essential part of the narrative as without it there is no explanation of why Abraham did not go through with the command by God.

Boehm gives us detailed evidence for why the intervention can be considered an addition to the original text, and how the original text without either of the Angel's intervention remains a coherent whole – albeit one in which it is Abraham that decides not to complete the command of God rather than God deciding to withdraw that command.

Boehm looks at the dynamic between Kierkegaard and Kant who wrestle with this story, and in simple terms Kierkrgaard uses it as an example to support faith over “reason” while Kant sees it as central to the problems of faith. Their conclusions will of course be filled around if we accept Boehm's reading, as Abraham now rejects the command of God, which Kant argues is the only moral outcome. That Scripture shows that following his Disobedience Abraham is not punished but continues to enjoy the favour of God, would seem to imply that God is with Kant and disobeying his own command is OK, perhaps even better than obedience.

But what Boehm doesn't do is go the next step and offer is an exploration of the implications of this “Model of Disobedience” on the contemporary life of faith. This is a question Boehm does not set out to answer but it is surely one that is essential to consider once you allow this alternative reading any credence – I don't think you have to have signed up to it as fully authoritative before you need to at least test out its implications.

Perhaps it is that next layer of exploration that comes through in James Goodman's reflections on this theme.

Proud by Gareth Thomas

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The retiring sport-star's autobiography has become a publishing staple, and as one of the greats of Welsh Rugby Gareth Thomas would probably have merited a book deal on that basis alone. But this is something more than the standard tale of victories and defeats, team talks and a back room gossip (in which context his reflections on the transition from the armature to professional era are insightful).

The major substance of this book is a raw account of Gareth Thomas' journey with his sexuality. He shares the long struggle, the ways in which he compartmentalised himself, and the growing pain leading to him opening up to his wife. He shares his attempts at suicide, with honest detail that avoids sensationalising those moments. The challenge he recounts in expressing feelings perhaps speaks more widely to why suicide rates among young man are so high.

He explores what it is for a bloke from Bridgend to be “gay” - I think one of the powerful shifts that has occurred in the last decade or so is the visibility of gay men who don't conform to old stereotypes. The idea that all gay men are camp or effeminate was a part of the constrain on Gareth expressing himself – there was a time when there was space to be openly gay, but only if you sacrificed part of the identity as “a man”- there was no such thing as a “gay bloke”. There are increasing role models (and Gareth a key example) who show that your sexuality is just one thing about you, it does not define you, and to be honest it is not a particularly important thing either.

This might make the book sound heavy, and in places it it, but it is not without a subtle humour, for example the first two players who knew about his sexuality were Stephen Jones and Martyn Williams – and Gareth says about Stephen Jones “He's from Llanelli. Played in France... he's going to be OK.” while about Williams he thought “He's from Pontypridd. A real man's man, hard worker, tough fucker...” and he was worried about his reaction. The insight into the sense of place and identity within Wales is revealing. However Williams was fine, indeed Gareth is in fact disappointed by the lack of reaction - all he got was “don't worry about. Let's have a beer.”.

How common is that as experience of coming out? We tie ourselves up in knots about our sexuality, we make the big announcement, and those around us either shrug and carry on as before or perhaps comment “cool, we were wondering when you were going to mention it”. This is clearly immeasurably better than those who are still being rejected for being honest about their sexuality, don't get me wrong about that.

But this affirmative indifference can in its own way be a challenge, I think it can feel almost as lonely as the closet if you still have the sense of being the “only gay in the village”- when Keegan Hirst, a Rugby League player, came out last year he was shortly afterwards given star billing at Manchester Pride and I think we could all do with a little bit of that.

Gareth Thomas, while in the closet, visited Soho, and is positive about the space that he found on the London Gay scene. That is not the experience of many, but also increasingly there is less and less of a scene, whatever your experience of it might be.

This is in part a positive trend, there is no longer a need to go to a gay bar with your boyfriend because being a visible couple in a regular bar is not a problem. But equally there are other dynamics that are less straightforward. For example, the increasing use of apps to meet – this can increase participation, many didn't have the opportunity, due to geography as much as anything, to access to gay bars, but social media can also be an isolating experience. Perhaps this is just a part of a transition in which coming to terms with your sexuality will be an ordinary part of teenage angst (which is not to belittle it – being a teenage is a pretty horrific experience for most people...).

Echoes of Eckhart by Richard Skinner

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Richard Skinner is a poem that I have great fondness for and he offers us here a joyous little book.

His starting point is the 13^th Century mystic Meister Eckhart – but other than the short introduction Skinner provides here I know nothing of Eckhart, but that didn't stop my enjoyment of these poems.

Each is an encounter, between Eckhart and the world around him, and sometimes God. It is a playful God, the one who can't help but answer a question with a question, who pops up when you are not seeking him, who is absent when you are...

The poems standalone, but also run together, with a theme flowing across two, three, four.

A couple of examples

You want to see me?

Then look deep

Into your soul

Doing as he is told

Meister Eckhart looks deep

And deeper still

Nothing here!

He exclaims

Quite so!

Nothing answers

And

A game

Of hide-and-seek

God is Cunningly concealed

Meister Eckhart is

At a loss

God deliberately

Clears his throat

And

Another year gone!

Another year older!

Meister Eckhart sighs

Not so! Not so!

I'm as young as ever!

His soul replies