A slim volume of
poems by the former Archbishop, which range widely across time and
space, showing, as one would expect, the great word smith at work.
Many take on
powerful, painful, events with respectful honesty rather than cheap
emotion.
Friday, 29 December 2017
Whale Song: Choosing Life with Jonah by Keren Dibben-Wyatt
Keren Dibbens-Wyatt
uses the story of Jonah alongside her personal experience of
depression to offer a message of hope.
Writing from within
(I assume) an Evangelical Christian tradition her approach to Jonah
seems to take every detail as historical fact – but even if you
take a less literal approach the message will remain intact.
Keren's message is
that even in the darkest moments there is hope – based on love, in
particular the all embracing and merciful love of God.
This might make it
hard for those without a Christian faith to engage?
This is probably one
of those books that is helpful to read before and after the moments
of deepest depression – before to give tools and resilience, after
to help process the experience – but in the moment itself the mind
is often closed off to the rational and external voices.
King Ludwig II
Have our trip to
Munich and visits to some of Ludwig's castles I got the following
books out the library:
The Swan King by
Christopher McIntosh (published 1982), and
Ludwig II of Bavaria
by Katerina von Burg (published 1989)
Reading their two
accounts of Ludwig's death is a good example of the myths and mystery
that surround him. McIntosh is convinced that Ludwig entered the
lake in an attempt as suicide, von Burg rules out suicide and is
convinced that it was an assassination.
Maybe von Burg is a
little too certain to find those around Ludwig in those final hours
guilty, however there are enough ambiguities in the events that
McIntosh reads as something of a whitewash.
The Day The Revolution Began by Tom Wright
So I have admitted
defeat on this one – I find Tom Wright's prose is too much for me.
He provides an argument that is so rich that it is hard to keep the
ideas all in play at the same time in order to follow it.
I skipped to the end
and the final 2 paragraphs provide a summary:
“The cross itself,
in short, stands at the center of the Christian message, the
Christian story, and the Christian life and mission. It has lost none
of its revolutionary and transformative power down through the
centuries. The cross is where the great story of God and creation,
focused on the strange story of God and Israel and then focused still
more sharply on the personal story of God and Jesus, came into
terrible but life-giving clarity. The crucifixion of Jesus of
Nazareth was a one-off event, the one on behalf of the many, the one
moment in history on behalf
of all others through which sins would be forgiven, the powers robbed
of their power, and humans redeemed to take their place as
worshippers and stewards, celebrating the powerful victory of God in
his Messiah and so gaining the Spirit's power to make his kingdom
effective in the world.
The
message for us, then, is plain. Forget the “works contract,” with
its angry, legalistic divinity. Forget the false either/or that plays
different “theories of atonement” against one another. Embrace
the “covenant of vocation” or, rather, be embraced by it as the
Creator calls you to a genuine humanness at last, calls and equips
you to bear and reflect his image. Celebrate the revolution that
happened once for all when the power of love overcame the love of
power. And, in the power of that same love, join in the revolution
here and now.”
Tuesday, 26 December 2017
Judas The Troubling History of the Renegade Apostle by Peter Stanford
Some might wonder
what the point of reading about Judas is – the best we could hope
to learn is what NOT to do?
However the way that
the Church, and wider society, have related to Judas reveals a lot
about what they thought about both good and evil. As Stanford shows
the Biblical accounts of Judas leave us with more answers than
questions, details from each Gospel could be used to build different
pictures.
Central to
Stanford’s exploration is the question of whether Judas' action, in
leading the authorities to Jesus and kicking off the final events of
Jesus' arrest, crucifixion, and, for Christians, resurrection, are
the work of the “devil”, ie killing the Son of God, or the work
of God, as part of the salvation of the work - something which
remains contested and about which Stanford does not conclude.
But it points to the
complexity of the very idea of “betrayal”. John le
Carré in
A Prefect Spy has one of the characters say
“Love is
whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love.”
And Stanford explores the kiss as a token for the relationship that
must have existed between Jesus and Judas, and might have endured
even across the act of betrayal? And we can recall Andrew
Lloyd-Weber & Tim Rice giving Judas the song “I don't know how
to Love Him” points to this same tension.
One of the points of
departure for my interest in thinking about Judas was his presence at
the Last Supper – what does it tell us about the Eucharist that
Jesus shared it with Judas, according to at least some of the
accounts, despite (or maybe because of) knowing Judas was going to
betray Him.
Pope Francis wrote,
in Evangelii Gaudium, “The Eucharist, although it is the fullness
of sacramental life, is not a prize for the perfect, but a powerful
medicine and nourishment for the weak”. And holding on to Judas at
the table is a good way to remind ourselves of this fact.
4 of the Church of
England's 7 Common Worship Eucharistic Prayers recall that it was “on
the night that he was betrayed” that the Last Supper took place.
We might not think of Judas as part of our liturgy, although unnamed,
his presence is there in our central act of worship.
However the
structure of these Prayers, which begin the narration of the
institution of the Eucharist with “... on the night that He was
betrayed He ...” places in your mind the betrayal before the
Eucharist and perhaps clouds your recall of Judas being there. But
hen Jesus offers His the bread and wine as his Body and Blood, and
says take this “all of you”, that all is addressed to Judas as
much as anyone else.
There is a common
approach to that of James Goodman's book on Abraham and the Sacrifice
of Isaac – looking at the textual origins of the story, the
development of interpretation over the centuries, and end with
reflections on contemporary understandings.
The first question
in this case is whether the texts we have inherited bear witness to
actual historical events, and if they do is their witness accurate.
Stanford contends that scripture “deserve to be taken seriously but
not literally as historical accounts” - that is he wishes to resist
the two extremes, both those who would write them off entirely as
well as the literalists.
At the end of the
day Stanford finds that much of the story of Judas serves little or
no theological propose. This, in his mind, points towards its likely
historical accuracy, details are included because they are what
people remember actually happening rather than to assist the
evangelist's polemical agenda.
Much of the book is
painful reading, as the Churches for most of their history have used
Judas as exemplar for the whole Jewish people, and bound references
to Judas and his betrayal directly into wider anti-Semitism. We
might place this in the distance Medieval past, but we have to be
more honest, it was not until after the horror of the Holocaust that
the Churches have made genuine and (near but not) universal efforts
to separate themselves from anti-Semitism.
But it is the
exploration of contemporary depictions of Judas that are of most
interest – one might see some of these to be playful. There is
something of a more rounded humanity to Judas that inspires people,
artists and writers, to engage with his story in a way that they seem
uninterested in most of the other Apostles. (Perhaps Peter's denial
is one of the few other opportunities).
Standford writes in
an engaging style, covering a huge amount of material in under 300
pages – and signposting plenty of sources to go and explore if you
want to go deeper into particular issues.
As a little aside,
while in the Holy Land he sees a sign, aimed at tour guides, “Please
No Explanation in the Church” - and it made me smile, because as he
notes some have perhaps taken that to be a much more general rule...
Saturday, 18 November 2017
The Vegetarian Tigers of Paradise by Crystal Jeans
What Crystal Jeans
captures is an authentic teenage experience.
That tension of the
transition between childhood and the adult world – at times pushed
forward to deal with situations without the life experience to deal
with them. But then the adults around you don't seem to be coping any
better...
Also the awkwardness
of trying to form an identity – attempts to be cool, attempts to be
yourself and somehow failing at both...
A world with limited
horizons – but new perspectives – full of hopes for the future,
but also the beginning of moments of realisation that you probably
can't “do anything”, that setting your mind to it is not enough,
circumstances will hold you back, drag you back.
A powerful encounter
with real life.
A Spy Among Friends by Ben MacIntyre
MacIntyre is a
consistent and skilful writer, and with Kim Philby he has a great
story to tell.
He uses the case of
Kim Philby to give an insight into the working of the British
Establishment, and the ways in which so many continued to fail to see
what Philby was doing despite there being plenty of evidence. It was
almost as if he was hiding in plain sight – but maybe that is the
wisdom of hindsight talking. It is a case of truth being stranger
than fiction – if you made the case of Philby up no-one would
believe you – which is perhaps how he got away with it for so long.
Mrs Hemingway by Naomi Wood
(Not including usual link to Hive - as I don't want to encourage you to buy this book...)
This book has great
reviews – not just on the cover, but online too – as I looked
them up after I decided to stop reading it.
I rarely give up on
a book, but in this case I didn't finish part 1 of 4. Why? Because I
found it so misogynistic – we seemed to be following weak women who
could only find their existence by reference to a great man.
Maybe if I had read
on the book would have rebalanced that picture, but I really couldn't
be bothered to put the effort in to find out.
In the weeks since
my attempt at reading this, the media has been dominated by the
stories of Harvey Weinstein and the associated sex scandals – which
centre on the unhealthy power dynamics between men and women which
have allowed men to get away with their actions for far too long –
the same power dynamics that are uncritically depicted in Mrs
Hemingway.
The Red House by Mark Haddon
I
read this
on the
same holiday as Notes from an Exhibition and in many ways a novel
from the same stable. Exploring the layers of family life – the
love and joy, the dysfunction
and manipulation. Yet somehow to the same measure that Notes from an
Exhibition felt safe the Red House was anything but.
I
seemed to invest in this family (families) in a total way – not all
of them were likable but they got under my skin. Their brokenness
became a
pain that I felt very personally – wishing, willing, them to be
better people and confounded time and again that they weren’t.
Isn’t
that a quality of family life, we hope that our beloved will live
lives of shinning virtue – we set such high expectations that even
the best fall short. And love is mostly about dealing with the gap
between the two.
Haddon's
writing of
the children / young people is one of the strengths, these are
rounded and full-bodied individuals. For a writer to give such
authentic voices to a range of generations seems to be an unusual
skill.
There
is also a power in the fact that “nothing” happens – they have
a week in a holiday cottage, some of them go for a walk, some a run,
they visit some second-hand bookshops, and there is a thunderstorm.
It is easy to keep the audience on the edge of their seats during an
action moive, but to do the same when there is essentially no action
at all is a real talent.
Notes from an Exhibition by Patrick Gale
Decided
to read
this as
a follow up to watching Gale's
“the Man
in the Orange Shirt”.
While
it was an enjoyable read, I
had this strong sense of deja
vu reading
this book – I am not sure why this was.
Maybe
I have read it before, but if I had my recall was not that strong,
and it
must have been before I started to blog about books.
Maybe
it was something about the authenticity of the characters…
…or
maybe, just maybe, this was actually fairly generic writing filled
with standard tropes played together in the guise of creativity? The
maverick artist mother, the strong and silence father, 3 children –
one a big shot in London, one loyal and close to home, one off the
map altogether.
I
feel bad if
offering that last possible conclusion seems
to rip into the book – I enjoyed it, the ebb and flow of their
lives were believable and engaging. The picture of Quaker life and
worship was deeply appealing. But somehow it never surprised me, and
never
really
moved me
beyond the
safe space
of the
observer.
Saturday, 4 November 2017
I thought there would be Cake by Katharine Welby-Roberts
Katharine offers a
very personal and vulnerable account focused on practical advise
about hope to cope better with the mix of depression, anxiety and
self-doubt.
For me she perhaps
talks about God too much although she is honest about the ways in
which Church can be part of the problem when in theory it should be
being part of the solution.
While I found it
difficult to warm to this book it was really helpful in moving me
another step along the journey to admitting that I have “anxiety”
as a thing and that most of my current [gin-based] coping strategies
are unhealthy.
In particular she
introduced me to the concept of a “replay” - the concept is new
to me but the experience isn't. I do that all the time – that I
sometimes lie in bed and replay and beat myself up about things I did
20 years+ ago is not normal – and that acknowledgement is progress.
That I remember
every failure and have forgotten every success – that I am driven
by the desire not to end up looking stupid – ending up looking
ridiculous because I am tongue-tied by the fear that what I would say
would reveal my inner stupidity. I find small talk painful because of
a belief that no-one would anything I say interesting so stand there
silently at the edge of the circle.
Typhoon by Charles Cumming
Picked up from the
“new books” shelf in the Library despite its publication back in
2008.
Cumming
is a writer is same school as Le Carré – the strength of the
characters is what carries the plot, the ability to create worlds
within worlds – layering the secrets one upon the other meaning
that you are drawn forward seeking the full picture, each revelation
pointing to the limits of knowledge. Questions about who is
manipulating who abound, that one persons motives might be being used
by another to completely different ends. As with Le Carré while
creating a fiction there is an intense plausibility to the set up –
he can believe that this is a tale only one step removed from
reality.
To
note that this was a great holiday read is not to disparage the
quality of the writing – I will be looking out for his other novels
now.
Saturday, 16 September 2017
The Liturgy of Life by Ricky Manalo
Of the books about
worship I have recently read this was by far the most interesting,
because despite the rhetoric of the others this was the only one that
actually engages with “ordinary” peoples faith and practice.
Manalo's, writing in
an USA Roman Catholic context, starting point is concern that since
Vatican II the emphasis on the people's participation in the Mass has
also devalued and marginalised a range on other formal and informal
liturgical practices.
He takes the term
Liturgy of Life from Peter C. Phan who defined it as the “universal
experiences of God and mystical encounters with God's grace in the
midst of everyday” - which prompts Manalo to realise that “the
Eucharist is not so much the source and centre of my life or the
church's life; God is.” This might seem blindingly obvious, yet how
much of the church's practice denies this truth. As someone coming
firmly from a Eucharistic tradition, who will find every reason to
oppose the introduction of a non-Eucharistic service, I have for a
number of years had this itch that using the Eucharist as the
metaphor for every Christian activity is unhelpful.
He points out that
“There is a general assumption that individuals commit ' to an
entire, single package of beliefs and practices of an official
religion,' when, in fact, many people come to negotiate a variety of
religious and spiritual practices...” - how many people have you
meet who explain that they would like to be a Christian but they
can't believe in such and such random dogma – and you are like -
OMG you think any of us believe that? I often find that those outside
the church take our doctrines far more seriously than we ourselves
ever would do.
But Manalo is also
helpful in pointing to the ways in which there are a whole range of
“religious” practices that are not directly related to going to
church, and therefore the assumption that the decline in church
attendance also marks a decline in religious disposition / an
increase in rationality is without foundation.
I go to church
because of my faith, I don't have faith because I go to church. But
one of the wisest thinks I have read is Manalo's quote from Irene
Duller, a born and bred but perhaps is many people's eye border-line
lapsed catholic, she defines 'church' as “a place that you know God
is there. While God can be everywhere, sometimes I'm not present. So
it's kind of like that calibration: I'm here; God's here. God is
everywhere but sometimes you need to be present to actually feel it.
But I think factually, God is everywhere. You could find God
anywhere.”
You could find God
anywhere, but generally you don't – you need something to frame the
encounter, to make you pay attention. The Eucharist is a powerful
opportunity for encounter with the Lord, but it is not unique, just
as Thomas and Paul had authentic but totally distinct encounters with
the risen Lord, so the Eucharist is only one form of encounter.
Never let us think that our Tabernacles can contain out God, he who
burst from the tomb knows no boundaries – every-time we set a limit
on his love he burst out and expanses our imagination.
One of the people
Manalo interviews is Helen Rosario, (key stats, 87, widow, Filipina)
whose house is full of icons – and I if I can work out how to add
pictures to this blog, I will show you that I am not so far behind...
Radical Sending by D Prentiss and F Lowe
Another book about
how to enhance the missionary character of the Church.
Despite agreeing
with the fundamental point of Prentiss & Lowe's argument – that
Church is a place from which you go out, not a place in which you
huddle for warm and comfort I struggled to engage with the book.
They use the
metaphor of a church as a “base camp” - it is not a bad image,
but they work it thread bare... They are best when they are quoting
others...
For example the
Lutheran pastor and educator Dwight DuBois who reflects that “This
[the equipping of church members] doesn't need to be another program,
something “more” that people can, should, or ought to do. As one
theologian in the missional church movement said, our task is to
'guide people to identify God's calling, to recognize the gifts and
opportunities they have, to provide them with the biblical and
theological training to incarnate the gospel in their particular
fields, and then to commission them to that ministry.”
That is to say, you
equip people to be witnesses in their existing “secular”
contexts, rather than framing “vocation” in terms of full- or
part-time “ministry”. In the Winchester Diocese this might be a
Bishop's Commission in secular employment?
Because, quoting
DuBois again, “Pastors are not called to get people to assist them
with their ministry; rather, the pastor is called to assist the
people, the laity, with their
ministry both in the church and in the world.”
Key to the idea of
“radical sending” includes an emphasis of the liturgical
dismissal – the words “go to love and serve the Lord” are for
Prentiss and Lowe perhaps the most important of the whole liturgy,
and if pressed to select just one word, they would undoubtedly choose
“go”...
This is all to the
good, but we have to ask if our practice actually affirms this
dynamic? In the Church of England, at least, these powerful words
sending us out into the world are generally preceded by an
exhortation to “stay” for tea/coffee and fellowship. This might
entirely undermine the intention to the liturgical sending out of the
people – but even without the coffee how many people would go from
Church to radical mission in the world, when it is Sunday lunchtime
and there is a roast waiting for them at home?
They
also quote Teresa of Avila, words that really spoke to me, and
I will reproduce, but allow them to speak for themselves...
May
today there be peace within.
May
you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.
May
you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May
you use thoase
gifts that you have received,
and
pass on the love that has been given to you.
May
you be content knowing you are a child of God.
Let
this presence settle into your bones,
and
allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.
It
is there for each and every one of us.
Creating Missional Worship, Fusing Context and Tradition by Tim Lomax
Seem to have read a
run of books about worship and mission recently – which have been
interesting as much for the points when I disagree with them as when
I agree.
One of the questions
prompted (as opposed to asked) by Lomax, and a lot of what is
sometimes call “Alternative” worship, is whether there is a
difference between a “ritual” and a one-off “symbolic”
action. Lomax, like many, uses the term “ritual” to cover one-off
actions that add “colour” to times of worship, but places them in
the same bracket as actions repeated over years, even generations.
The power and potential of a one-off symbolic action and an
oft-repeated, time-honoured, action can not be taken as being
equivalent.
When Lomax gives
examples of “contextual” worship/mission these seem to all
involve a resource rich middle-class Church providing some form of
supportive activity to a needy “other”. I would not want to
appear to question the need for the Church to be active in the
support of the “poor” or others who are disadvantaged and / or
marginalised within society – but I worry about the assumed power
dynamics of “us” doing things for “them” which might actually
work against their empowerment. I also worry that we might act as if
the middle class, the comfortable, have no needs of their own –
maybe the Church finds it is easier to address the material needs of
the “other” than address, or even acknowledge, the spiritual
needs of its own?
In considering
tradition, Lomax is helpful in pointing out that you need to
understand the “why” of a tradition if you are go to perpetuate
it with integrity – sometimes the “what” will in fact have to
change in order for you to be faithful to the “why”. Lomax
claims that tradition used to be contextual, but I am not quiet sure
I agree – isn't the definition of tradition the point when it has
migrated from the context of origin – that we continue to hold
something dear beyond its direct response to the world around us? To
define tradition as Lomax does appears to leave it at risk of
becoming a feather blown endlessly in the wind.
Lomax is probably in
direct opposition to Pridmore's conclusion when he decides that
“traditional liturgical texts may be an unhelpful barrier to many
in worship” - noting as many as 5 million adults in England are
“functionally illiterate”. Lomax feels that we need to provide
simple and short texts. But even his quote from the National
Literacy Trust points to the fact that it is obtaining information
from “unfamiliar sources” that can cause problems. There might
be a need for simple texts, but there is a greater need for familiar
texts – while we think about the needs of those will limited
literacy too often, I feel, writers of liturgy assume that means
these people are also unintelligent. I am not sure it is literacy
that makes are inherited texts inaccessible – illiteracy in England
when Crammer complied the Prayer Book was far great than it is today,
and yet Crammer's words were lived and breathed by generations – so
there is something else going on.
Lomax asks “Have
you ever left an act of worship feeling that you weren't allowed to
be yourself...?” and suggests giving worshippers the opportunity to
express “what is in their hearts and minds in their own way?” My
problem is that in most of the times when I have felt worship was
most limiting myself expression were the times when we were told to
“share with your neighbour” - most contemporary worship is
unrelentingly upbeat, where to admit you are miserable can feel like
a serious transgression, while it is hardly fair to “dump” the
rage in your heart on the unsuspecting stranger sat next to you. Our
liturgical tradition at its best, like the psalms, gives us words of
joy and of sorrow, speaking of our delight in the Lord but also our
anger at him too.
This is one of those
books where its heart is in the right place, but it is just on a
different wavelength from me.
Playing with Icons by John Pridmore
Through this
exploration of various memoirs, John Pridmore offers insights into
the spirituality of children, and indeed the spirituality of the
adults we grow up to be.
Part of this is to
draw attention to the ways in which children tend to be more focused
on the present while adults fill their heads with nostalgia or
worries about tomorrow. Pridmore quotes Philip Simmons that “...the
present moment, entered into fully, is out gateway to eternal life”
- the more we are able to inhabit the present the more we are in fact
inhabiting eternity.
The world children
live in can be full of myths and imagining – but as Picasso said
“Everything that can be imagined is real” - the richness of their
world is not one to be dismissed as fantasy.
Reflecting on the
encounters with “church” that are recalled, he writes “If as a
young child I am given to understand that I am not yet fully one of
the Christian family, then, however much I am entertained in church
by kindly and well-meaning people, I will know in my heart that I am
not really wanted.” This is usually deployed as an argument for
including children in Communion, and while I agree with that, I worry
that it is seen as a quick fix – you can receive Communion and yet
still be alienated from the community – there is a need for a more
all embracing response...
But he goes on
“Adults, who are on the whole free to avoid the company of the
egregiously unpleasant, forget what it once was to have been at their
mercy.” but I am not sure how many adults are really that free? In
lots of ways the choices of adults can be curtailed – by education,
mobility, economic power etc. and when they are, often it will be
without the hope that can sustain the child – the child can look
forward to growing up and escape – adults may feel the limits of
life have become fixed.
Pridmore uses the
memoirs to construct a world of enchantment – a power for
spirituality and religion that is not rooted in the rational. He is
also, possibly accidentally, providing a case for the defence of the
Prayer Book.
For example, when he
quotes Anne Treneer “Yet though not a naturally religious child, I
am glad I was taken to church regularly, initiated into the Christian
faith, and helped to participate in the profound poetry of the
Christian year. Though inattentive, I came insensibly to know the
liturgy word for word, and to live in the double rhythm of the
earthly seasons and of man's noblest imagining”
In another place he
has Francesca Allinson recalling a friends account of Adam and Eve
“She described the Fall as a lovers' parting: there was God, great
and yet aching, impotent for all his Godhead to beget love except on
the same terms as mortals, buying it as dearly as they... The story
whether its events had actually taken place or not, bore within it
its own truth of existence”.
And so he reflects
“The stories are thrilling but so too was the language in which
they were once told. In our contemporary anxiety to render the text
of the Bible into a language which is readily intelligible – an
anxiety amounting to paranoia, so addictive is the compulsion to
produce ever more translations – we have forgotten that the
intelligibility of sacred texts is not all that matters about them,
certainly not to small children. We have seen [from examples of
encounters with big old family Bibles etc] how important the feel
of a Bible was to children we have met. So too, as we have now seen,
was the sound of it.
Sense is not served by disregard of the senses.”
Pridmore
is yet another person questioning the current liturgical practice of
the Church of England, on two fronts, first that our contemporary
liturgy in attempting to use accessible language has lost its poetry
and therefore lost its appeal, and second that endless variation of
texts prevent them becoming familiar and inhabited – or as the
collect puts it “hear
them, read, mark, learn” and, perhaps most importantly, “inwardly
digest them”. I have made this point before and will undoubtedly
make it again. But Pridmore himself notes that his sources, those
that when on to write, might be a bias source group – as group they
are firstly likely to be disproportionally literate, but even among
the literate they are likely to be attracted to richness of language.
Harvesting the Stars – A Pagan Temple at Lismullin, Co. Meath by Aidan O'Connell et al
This archaeological
monograph provides an account of the pre-historic ritual landscape
discovered during the preparation for the construction of the M3 in
Ireland.
There is always a
challenge in the interpretation of “ritual” features when there
is no written record of the belief system that created them. There
must always be a certain degree of creativity in the development of
the account of their meaning.
What becomes clear,
at least, is the sophistication of the culture – there are a number
of different phases to the landscape and a wealth of interrelated
features.
Central to the
account is the “temple” at Lismullin – this is the most
significant feature discovered during this archaeological programme
of work – but it sits within a wider landscape of other significant
known features.
Of particular
interest is its alignment to the Pleiades star cluster – we are
familiar with pre-historic monuments being aligned to astronomical
features – but mostly, like Stonehenge, these seem to be sun rises
on key dates in the year. To be aligned to the stars seems to suggest
that where ever happened in the enclosure must have happened at
night, when the stars would be visible – but what happened and what
it meant is largely closed to us.
Saturday, 26 August 2017
Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms by Gerard Russell
The religious
communities that Russell meets and shares through this book are
mostly known to us in “the West” only through reports of their
persecution – and there is a bitterness in knowing that even in the
few years since Russell wrote that persecution has become more
intense.
For many of these
communities their sense of identity and belonging is seated in a
completely different place from our own. Most of the religions do
not proselytise, do not even catechize their own believers – this
sets them apart from the “big” faiths (although maybe the
contrast to pre-reformation Christianity would not have been so
sharp?).
What we learn from
Russell is that the esoteric actually enriches us all. Of them all,
even though there are only 750 Samaritans (and that a rising total)
makes the collective identity of the 7 billion + people alive today
richer.
There would be an
argument that the lives of these minorities would be “easier” if
they dropped their particular identity and conformed to the majority
– but life is not meant to be easy it is meant to be authentic –
conformity might make me richer but it would make me less myself –
as someone once said “what will it profit a man if he gains the
whole world and forfeits his soul?”
Monday, 21 August 2017
The Prince of this World by Adam Kotsko
I will have to be
honest and admit that most of this book when over my head...
It is a take on the
“problem of evil” - finding that the problem is the creation of
particular philosophical and theological ideas which have grown up,
particular within the Christian tradition.
It seems that the
harder Christian thinker tried to reconcile the problem of evil the
more distorted the image of God became.
We are left with an
essentially unsolvable problem because these distortions have become
bound into the core of our world-view.
It is an interesting
topic even if I struggled to engage effectively with it.
Who Killed Hammarskjöld? By Susan Williams
That I hadn't
previously heard of the assassination of Hammarskjöld
feels like a personal embarrassment but is perhaps a token of the
fact that we, the British, are rather good at overlooking historical
events that would diminish our self image.
Susan Williams'
account is tightly written, it reads with the drama of Le
Carré – perhaps not a
complete surprise, because it is tale from Le
Carré's era of active,
secret, service.
There
are points where you get the feeling that there were so many people
with an interest in seeing the demise of the Secretary-General that
there was probably more at than one plot – that some of those
trying to cover their own tracks might have inadvertently of been
exposing others. There seem to be parts of the evidence that simply
don't add up – they are not explained by an accident, yet neither
do they fit well with any of the theories for what might have
happened. Williams marshals substantial evidence – bringing it
together for the first time, but there are still bits of the jigsaw
missing.
The
actions of the authorities after the crash seem at best negligent to
the point complicity, while the investigators wilful in dismissing
evidence of witnesses that didn't fit with their conclusions (the
failure of even the UN investigation to get anywhere near the truth
is a worry).
The
treatment of the witnesses is one of the aspects that reminds us that
the world has not changed
that much – racial prejudice was the key drive for undermining
witnesses, but it is a pattern that we see repeated, for
example after
Hillsborough, and why the victims of Grenfell Tower are so
miss-trusting of the investigation been established there.
Time and again investigations find in favour of the establishment's
version of the truth.
This
feels like an important story – not just to honour Hammarskjöld's
memory, but as an exemplar of the ways forces of power interact and
corrupt.
Sunday, 20 August 2017
God's Belongers by David Walker
Let's begin with an
image that is perhaps key to what David Walker is trying to tell the
church with this book, the fact that “For many of us, membership is
characterised by the National Trust subscription. We join as a sign
of general support for the aims of the organisation. We are happy to
part with a modest financial contribution towards its work and are
glad to be able to visit its properties once in a while when the urge
takes us. We may even purchase modest mementoes of our visits to take
home or give to our friends. But only a few of us aspire to be
regular volunteers.”
The challenge is
many of the findings David Walker presents run counter to the way
that we would like people of behave and feel.
Most of those
wrestling with the future of the church and its mission are “regular
volunteers” and we want people to respond to the church in a
similar way because we assume that we are “normal” but for most
people that is probably not going to happen. The question is how we
engage with that wider group who have faith, and even feel a
connection to the church, but who don't see belonging in terms of
being on the rota...
For example, in his
surveys David Walker finds that a significant number feel “It
wouldn't be the same to attend a service in another church.” with
very strong support for statements about attachment to the building,
therefore he concludes that “Place was evidently an important, if
not the primary, aspect for the vast majority” of those responding.
We would like people to be footloose, therefore if we close a church
and consolidate resources, we see no reason for anyone to complain –
we are offering the same God therefore the venue should be
insignificant – but all the evidence suggests the opposite.
Walker finds that
“Having the same service, at the same time and place, is of huge
importance to our sense of belonging through regular activity.”
This should be no surprise, because while some are clearly over
protective about “their” pew, we can also see a similar sense of
dislocation found in the workplace when you are forced to hot desk,
it comes from a deep seated inclination – we should not blame
people for being creatures of habit, but we might need to help people
manage the desire for the familiar in ways that give space for
welcome of the newcomer who treads on their toes.
And frustratingly as
we embrace an ever increasing range of worship resources Walker also
find that “People who come to church once in a while are more
likely to prefer to find something that hasn't changed too radically
from the last time they turned up.” The addiction to variation that
Common Worship encourages flies in the face of this need, allowing us
to be new every morning – perhaps Common Worship is better used to
allow different churches to find their distinct voices, but having
found that voice they should speak consistently with it.
Linked to this
message “the survey results suggest that the church would be
advised in its teaching and preaching ministry to focus on adding to
the content and meaning with which individuals fill out traditional
terms rather than seeking to replace them.” People find a comfort
in the familiar words, but they may not have embraced the richness of
meaning that can be found within them. In this respect the debate
about the use of the Nicene Creed jumps to my mind, if people
struggle to understand the Creed, they we should seek to share its
meaning better not replace it with intelligible but essentially bland
alternatives.
I think that David's
research encountered those that are generally (and perhaps
arrogantly) termed “dechurched”, they were making connection with
their past engagement with the church. There is an increasing number
of people that have no past with the church to draw on, and so some
of assumptions have a limitation in that respect. However in terms of
outreach, if we want to maximise our impact, the “dechurched”
will be the easiest to reach, church was a habit, lost but not
rejected. Let's perhaps get them more engaged before we set ourselves
the harder task of getting the “unchurched”? And it could be a
win-win situation, as “in preparing fresh, challenging and
interactive forms of worship, the use of rather more traditional
material will enhance the worship experience for both occasional and
regular churchgoers.”
The recently
reported rise in attendance at Choral Evensong speaks to this
dynamic. As someone who returned to regular church going, as a
student, via Choral Evensong, I think one of the keys to why it was a
positive experience was that it allowed you to feel without demanding
you to “think” (and nothing to do with the aesthetic appeal of
the gentlemen of the choir). As a student, and now as a civil
servant, so much of life involves having a head full of words and
mental gymnastics so to say I come to church to “be” rather than
to “think” is not to identify as a troglodyte. Lord save us from
unthinking Christians – but worship does not need to be Bible study
or theological seminar, it needs to be an encounter with our
transcendent yet immanent God. So for all the richness of the hymns
of John Bell, and their folksy language, they often require the
intellectual side of your brain to be engaged and so pass me by –
in contrast to something like Taizé where the chant becomes you,
words of praise can become as instinctive as breathing.
Overall I enjoyed
this book because it was basically talking about people like me, but
we are all on a spectrum, if you are somewhere else on the curve it
could well be a book filled with frustration – we are not right and
wrong, we are just different and yet thankfully equal in the embrace
of God's love.
As a ps I will
mention that when he reflects on his vocation David suggests that he
was called to ordination in part “because of my weakness... I
wasn't sure I was up to the demands of holding a secular career and
being a committed follower of Jesus Christ at the same time.” and
interesting and playful idea...
Wednesday, 5 July 2017
Fierce Imaginings by Rachel Mann
With
the sub-title “The Great War, Ritual, Memory and God” this seemed
like a book that would speak to my particular interest the process of
“Remembrance”, and with a glowing foreword from Rowan Williams my
expectations were high. All this only intensified the resulting
frustration of reading it.
This
is wide and freely ranging book, and part of my complaint is that
there were large parts of it that seems to be reflecting on neither
Ritual nor Memory, and God barely puts in an appearance.
For
example there could have been an interesting theme of exploring the
relationship of the Church and the inter-war Remembrance, the
discomfort of the Established Church that felt over this mass
movement (of women)
beyond their control and the attempts to move the focus to
Remembrance Sunday. Ffor
the Church it was a happy coincience that November 11 fell on a
Sunday 1945 and they then made
the Sunday rather than the 11th
the focus for much of the post-war period. But we got none of that.
Looking at the Bibliography there seems to be very few soruces that
actual address the memorial process – there has been plenty written
about the ritual and memory assoicated with the Great War, and a book
that attended to that liturature and brought “God”, “the
Church”, and/or theology into diologue with it would have been
really interesting – this is not that book.
Rachel
reflects on her disappointment, after a childhood of watching the
Whitehall Remembrance ceremonies on TV to finally visit the Cenotaph
and find is 'lost' in the busyness of the city – but for me that
closeness of the current life and the token of the Fallen is
powerful. It is something I reflected on while in Hong Kong, where
they have an exact copy of the Whitehall Cenotaph, but set in
a small fenced square of lawns – this creates an ‘oasis’ around
it, so that it is detached from the bussle of the city. This of
course points to the fluidity of meaning – we have encountered the
same memorial but our experiences have be distinct, possibly even
polar opposites.
These differences should not be a problem, expect that Rachel often
puts her views forward as the views of the majority. I think there
is very little evidence that the tensions around the Remembrance of
our past wars she wrestles with troubles many people. The annual
outrage when someone appears on TV in mid-October without a Poppy
suggests that there is a sizable part of the nation that take
Remembrance un-critically. We have also seen that our contempory
conflicts, while their justification is contested, seem to have
reinforced the desire to give honour to the “sacrifice” of the
ordinary solider.
At one point she writes that “I'm worried. My grandfathers'
presence in this book is in danger of going missing for the sake of
some fancy philosophing” - well she was probably right to be
worried, but it is not fancy philosophing but lazy pontificating that
is the danger.
Rachel
makes much of the Cenotaph as a deliberate expression of an “imperial
ideology”, but we have to note that is some ways, of all the
memorials, it is accidental – recreating in stone the temporary
structure of the Victory parade. I suspect its simple form has as
much do with the limitations of the original wooden structure as it
does to Lutyens' design preferences. When compared to Lutyens'
earlier Cenotaph in Southampton it is stripped of the trappings of
power. I would argue that the Whitehall Cenotaph says very little,
and in saying very little it has been able to speak back to us
whatever we have projected onto it over the long and changeable
century since it was erected.
That
is not to deny that there are a lot of mixed motivations around the
process of Remembrance. I have been thinking about the way that the
Royal Family is able to at one with the people during the act of
Remembrance at the Cenotaph, given they have been on active service
in recent conflicts, such as Prince Harry's deployment to
Afghanistan. Meanwhile Prime Minister's role is more awkward –
honouring the fallen is an act validating their decision to send
troops into the conflict zone. This tension acts at all levels,
mixed motives at the national level have been explored at length, but
even at the local level there would often have been a significant
overlap between the local councillors who sat on Military Service
Tribunals and those that sat on the committees that planned the
memorials – can we blame them for wanting to reassure themselves,
in stone, that the deaths they sent their town's boys to were
honourable ones?
But
I think we can over play our hand here – seeing grand schemes to
blind “the people” from “the truth” - but when we look across
the great arch of human cultures, across both time and place, the
creation of a fitting memorial to those who have died is one of the
few near universals (even if what counted as fitting has been very
fluid). The memorial makers were not as cynical or calculating as we
might suggest.
A
personal memoir about how the Great War continues to touch a family 3
generations later, without the hyperbole, would have been a much
better book.
Saturday, 17 June 2017
Hummingbird by Tristan Hughes
Looking back at this
blog it is 6 years since I read Tristan Hughes' Revnant, a novel
compared to this novella.
But there is a
commonality between the two, in both there is a wrestling with past
events, an attempt at making sense.
It is also yet
another book set in the far north, Canadian rather than Alaska in
this instance.
The smallness of the
community seems to allow for a deeper exploration of relationships,
of life played out with the open secrets of village life (perhaps not
secrets but unspoken knowledge of events). But there are a number of
stories that are not told, the cast of characters around Zach and Eva
clearly have backstories, but we only get hints, this is perhaps a
sign of the bravery of Hughes as a writer – to leave these stories
untold.
For Zach and Eva
this results in others knowing much more about the events that
dominate their young lives than they themselves do. Zach's mother had
committed suicide, Eva's parents died in a plane crash, and in the
end Eva speaks for both of them “We don't get to know why.” - we
seek meaning in the events of our lives but sometimes the meaning
escapes us, and sometimes there is no meaning, things just happen.
Given Zach and Eva
are young people one might wonder why this book labelled youth
fiction, when others read recently, like Other People's House are.
The themes here are challenging, but they are in the other books.
Hughes has a reputation as a “serious” novelist, so this is
marketed as a grown up book.
Wounded by Emily Mayhew
Following those
wounded during the First World War and those who provided medical
care to them gives a particular view on the conflict.
Mayhew in the
introduction is keen to justify taking a narrative approach to her
account, relying on diaries and memoirs, on the basis that there is a
lack of records to provide a statistical survey, I am not exactly why
this was necessary.
There are 4 wounded
soldiers followed, and a larger number of Medics and Nurses and so
on, and so one might feel that the voice of the wounded is not as
strong as it could be in a book of that title.
One of the issues
might be that the book focused on the times of peak activity and
perhaps underplays the periods of limited activity and boredom that
dominated most of the war.
As with many aspects
of the war, it is a tale of a lack of preparation resulting in early
chaos but systems being put in place which while not perfect were
broadly effective.
Deep Sea and Foreign Going by Rose George
A bit of a busman's
holiday, while I would not fully endorse all of the conclusions and
there were times where it felt it tended to favour the simplistic
remedies of the arm-chair observer it gives a good overview of the
nature of the shipping industry.
It shows the tension
of the status of the ship as a utilitarian instrument of global
industry and a home to the seafarer. We all experience cost control
at work, but it is tough when that same cost control is applied to
you home as well.
There are examples
on bad practice, of mediocrity, and occasionally even best practice.
That Rose travelled on a Maersk vessel avoids any claim that she was
actively seeking the bottom of the spectrum.
In particular the
ways in which technology are changing the life of the seafarer, both
the technology of the ship itself and the increased access to
personal entertainment and social media. The sociability is
declining, port call are shorter, crews are smaller, and when
on-board they spend more time in their cabins with a laptop rather
than the mess with each other.
Change is inevitable
but an acknowledgement of its impacts is important.
Robert Maguire & Keith Murray by Gerald Adler
St Paul's Bow Common
is a truly iconic Church, at least for those who take an interest in
the liturgical life of the Church of England. It was the starting
point of the partnership of Maguire and Murray, and Adler provides an
engaging account of what they did next over the following half
century or so.
Many of the values
they seeked to embody, about a quality of provision, about a
simplicity, are very attractive. This is an account of the buildings
that they built, but it might have been good to hear more of the
users experience, to hear about what these buildings had become in
the intervening years. Have the hopes of providing spaces that
enabled healthy community life been realised?
Spectacles by Sue Perkins
A must read for the
Bake-Off fan, it is bitter sweet as we await the new Mel & Sue
free version of that show.
There is always a
bit of tension about reading the “successful” explain their
personality flaws, you want to say that is all very well for you, but
think how bad it is to live with all those flaws and not have the
comfort of “success” as a small compensation package. This is
not a criticism of Sue Perkins in particular but it is a trend in
many memoirs – it is almost the cliché that the comedian has
become a performer in order to distract attention from their true
self, it is their coping strategy for crippling shyness – and it is
one we find in part here as well.
But even with all
that said, this is an enjoyable read – there were plenty on moments
of social failure with which I had a familiarity that is a bit to
close for comfort. Certain failure modes she recounts that I was
pleased to know were not unique feature of me, or my nearest and
dearest.
One of the great
strengths of Mel & Sue is there authenticity – it is definitely
what made Bake Off was watchable – the puns might have been
terrible but you believed that they bubbled up spontaneously and were
not contrived, as is so often the case on TV, the product of hours
dark in the script-writers room. This is trick that Claudia Winkleman
manages on Strictly while Tess doesn't quite...
This same
authenticity comes through this memoir, an insight into the
big-hearted life of Sue :-)
By the Grace of God by Gary Bunt
This book pairs Gary
Bunt's poems and paintings.
The paintings are
playful. Jesus appears with beard and white robes, a cliché, but
the context is a modern(ish) land, for example the Three Wise Man are
flat-cap wearing and arrive on bicycles. But also Jesus is
accompanied by a faithful dog, it is funny that a canine can give a
humanising touch.
There is often a gap
in religious art between twee Victorian pastiche and the high end
contemporary – there is room for thoughtful but gentle works, and I
hope that Bunt wouldn't be too offended by being put in that bracket.
Of the poems, some
have a witty charm that echoes the paintings, many in the voice of
Jesus' dog, but some seem a little glib, or trot out simplistic
doctrinal statements, and I am not sure if these should be read
tongue in cheek or not.
Orbiting Jupiter by Gary D. Schmidt
Since reading The
Smell of Other People's Houses by Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock there seems to
be a theme of books set in northern lands, and here is another one.
Also little Other People's Houses it has been categorised as “youth”
fiction.
Perhaps one of the
likely reasons for the youth label is that this is a compact story,
if it was marketed for adults it might be a novella.
There is an
emotional intensity to the tale, which is sustained at this length
and which over a longer format would have sagged.
The pairing of Jack
and Joseph is key – the contrast between the troubled Joseph and
the settled life of Jack – Jack's responses to the new dynamic in
his family drive the narrative, you come alongside Jack and see the
events unfolding through his eyes. The possibilities for both good
and bad within the world seem to expand for him.
It is a book that
explores the hope that can be found within the midst of tragedy, for
every person we encounter who is selfish and small minded Schmidt
tells us there are more who are generous and open-hearted.
While I don't think
it is particularly a “Christian” tale, it is definitely one that
bold to claim that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness
will not overcome it. In the face of the daily news we probably need
tales like this to encourage us to continue to seek the diamonds in
the dust.
Cove by Cynan Jones
This is an example
of the truth that less can be some much more.
Less than 100 pages,
most with more white space that text, to be lost at sea is an
encounter with the emptiness and the words that you place in that
space have to be carefully crafted.
As I read I could
feel my heart thumping with the determination of the unnamed man to
survive, and with the unnamed women that waits for him.
I have very little
that I can say, it is a tale of such power I just have to hold the
emotion.
Monday, 1 May 2017
Dark Mermaids by Anne Lauppe-Dunbar
The setting of this
story, just after the fall of the Berlin Wall while the two Germanys
remained uneasy about their pasts uncertain about their future, is so
rich that it has significant potential to overwhelm a storyteller of
inferior quality – it is credit to Lauppe-Dunbar that she weaves
her tale seamlessly into this historical backdrop.
There is Sophia,
young West German Police officer, realising that the Wall coming down
is opening up not just a country but also her past – her past as a
star of the GDR swimming team. Mia, teenager, orphan, raised by her,
now dying, Grandmother, for whom the Wall may have come down but fear
of the power of the state, of the Stasi, remains real. Their separate
lives are drawn together intertwining as they unravel.
For much of the
journey it certainly puts the “Dark” in Dark Mermaids – murder,
doping, lies and betrayal, sexual abuse pile up, survival for Sophia
was only possible through emotional shut-down. But as she faces her
demons so she discovers the possibility of tenderness and love again.
While it is a tale of the astounding capability of human endurance
under ultimate strain, and in that way is a story of hope –
Sophia's endurance is set against a backdrop of many others who did
not survive.
It feels like we
live in a world that needs to learn the lessons of this tale – a
world that perhaps needs to learn these lessons more urgently now
that at any point since the fall of the Berlin Wall. It is not just
that the corruption of sport continues, there are suggestions of
state sponsored programmes as far reaching as those of the GDR, but
even outside of such state programmes the stakes have been raised so
high that taking the advantage that drugs bring seems to too many
worth the risks. But more pressingly the ways in which national pride
is rising and with it claims to national interest can be used to
justify stripping individuals of rights and basic human dignity –
reducing them to mere instruments within the exercise of power. Ends
claimed to justify means, when we need to turn the spotlight on
whether the ends are even desirable in the first place?
A powerful novel in
its own right, but all the more powerful for speaking to the
Zeitgeist.
The Smell of Other People's Houses by Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock
I will be honest as
admit to buying this book because I liked the cover … But
thankfully the content rewarded this decision.
Writing in the
voices of Ruth, Dora, Alyce, and Hank alternately Bonnie-Sue breathes
an authenticity into their lives that is captivating. These are young
people on that difficult threshold of adulthood – with lives that
forcing them forward whether they like it or not. As these young
people struggle, the sense of isolation – that it is them against
the world – has a familiar ring. There is much drama to be had in
the small town setting, with the sense of place as powerful character
within the story as an of the people – which puts me in mind of
Cider with Rosie.
This has been
bracketed as a “youth” novel, which might be helpful to the
marketing department of the publisher but to the reader it is a
pointless distinction – this is quality writing, worthy of a
readership of any age.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)