Jesus? Jesus Christ? Meh.

Last night I was in the company of some rather brilliant priests, doing a wee Mary.  We were discussing Mission after a wickedly pointed paper from the marvellous parish priest currently bringing a quiet joy to Flixton’s Parish Church, Rev’d Dr Vicky Johnson (who cooks an amazing French chicken casserole, btw).

We looked at it from the perspective of the five marks of mission from the context of the Anglican Church.  Boring, boring, boring?  Switching off? Well, with Synod off the ground and a great swell of purple protestors, it is interesting to be reminded that we are called to:

To proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom
To teach, baptise and nurture new believers
To respond to human need by loving service
To seek to transform unjust structures of society
To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth
(Bonds of Affection-1984 ACC-6 p49, Mission in a Broken World-1990 ACC-8 p101)

We discussed, challenged, cogitated, reflected and on the odd occasion diametrically opposed one another – in love, you understand.  But the most disturbing line of the evening, without a doubt, was a senior cleric sharing that the biggest challenge the Church faces today isn’t atheism, new atheism, fundamentalism or even the finer details of enculturation, it is pure and simply this: meh.

Jesus saves.  Meh.

God loves you. Meh.

Your sins will be forgiven, heaven awaits, the Spirit will inspire, life will change… meh.

Pure, unadulturated indifference.  ’Where do you go with that?’ he said.  Yup, you’re on a road to nowhere…

I wonder if it’s that the fear of all sorts of things does not tend to be a burning issue in our minds – being fed from our own crops, premature death, sickness and all of the fear of the unknown that even severe weather brought in those dark, superstitious days of medieval-dom?  Something tells me not, because, as any parish priest or hospital chaplain will tell you, existential crises – or death – do tend to force issues of mortality and eternity to the surface in any old century.

We talked about the individualisation of faith, the lack of community – and I don’t mean our Facebook friends and tweeps we’ve never met but can tweet anything to – but people we wake up with, and work with and wail and walk on air with.  People we would lay down our lives for, our fidelities to people and place as fiercely loyal as any wee Nac Mac Feegals.

The conversation has haunted me this last twenty-four hours, and in letting the program run in the background I’ve come to a realisation, true for me if not for any other.

The only way I have ever been privileged to bring anyone to faith is when I’ve simply been living mine.  I don’t mean spouting off about it, getting into gear with my apologetics, lining up scripture and prophecy like a loaded weapon ready to fire off at any oncoming missile of doubt or reason.  I mean, simply being joyful, taking care of somebody who doesn’t actually care for me, standing my ground over an issue of justice even though it will cost me, and yes, happening to mention Jesus, or a particular event at Church anecdotally in the ‘what did you do this weekend’ vein.  Words have rarely won people over unless their hearts and eyes had first been drawn to something beyond them.

For the only time that people have genuinely wanted to hear my personal witness has been at times when I’ve least wanted to give it.  A throw-away comment that has lead to a deep and meaningful exchange – even an amusing, irreligious tweet.  What I am very clumsily trying to say, is that my faith, and my relationship with Jesus does the witnessing all by itself, and that whenever I’ve ‘tried’ to fulfil ‘the great commission‘, or to nudge somebody a little way towards the Narrow Gate, my will and my purpose have so overshadowed the light I am trying to bear that indeed, it has been snuffed out.  The nearest image that comes to mind is that I bear a torch, but as soon as I begin running after people with it, the wind simply blows it out, whereas continuing on at a regular pace simply bearing it, casts a lot of light around and about, often shining into places it had never occurred to me it would.

tó μαρτύριον (marturion) means not just a witness or a testimony, but evidence or proof.  Surely that can only be seen in the pudding?  (Oh go one then, you can call me Pudding, but I should like to be an almond and cherry frangipan, I thank you.)

Currently, all we are often verbally and bodily witnessing to is exclusion, spite, judgement, condemnation, ignorance, fear and any number of ‘isms’ beginning but not ending with race.  Talking to others about sin, repentance and redemption sounds like a bit rich in the face such institutionalised dysfunction.  So of course Jesus gets a ‘meh’ because we are His only witnesses, we are His last will and testament in the most literal sense we can imagine, until His final revelation in the fullness of time.  In the meantime, many are on the road to nowhere, and truth be told,  if we don’t refocus our energies into laying down our lives for others and loving one another as God loves us – without many and varied party lines - so are we.

For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility,¹⁵ by setting aside in his flesh the law with its commands and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace, ¹⁶ and in one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility. ¹⁷ He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. ¹⁸For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit.

¹⁹ Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, ²⁰ built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. ²¹In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. ²² And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.  (Ephesians 2:19-22)

Our message and our ministry is reconciliation:  μαρτύριον

Siblings and Civil Partnerships

This is just a very quick post in response to a rather nowty stream of tweets I received over the weekend which elevated me to the status of ‘Church of England spokesperson’ and also said that I thought siblings could engage in a Civil Partnerships, neither of which are true.

I do understand the frustration of siblings and other relatives who, as carers often eschew marriage (or a civil partnership for that matter) in order to look after their relatives.  Of course it seems unfair that the household they have been contributing to then leaves them liable for inheritance tax, and there was much talk and fighting and even a vote on whether or not siblings aught to be included in the Civil Partnership Act.  It was called ‘discriminatory’ that they could not.

But let’s just follow that logic through and see where the real seed of discrimination lies?

‘Why shouldn’t I have the same rights as gay people?’ says the singleton paying inheritance tax on her sister’s house. 

Rights which were generated from the cry, ‘Why don’t we have the same rights as straight couples?’

So let’s have a look at those actual rights, shall we? 

A spouse automatically inherits their spouses’ half of the communal property UNLESS the spouse has bequeathed it to somebody else.  That’s right, you could find that your spouse has bequeathed the other half of your house to your children who – let’s say, emigrate, are in debt, are made redundant, are mean as a mustard on chilli with extra jalapenos sandwich, or indeed, they’ve left it to your mother-in-law who’s been after ousting you since she pebble-dashed you with rice at the wedding.

I’ve just bought (and sold) a property with a friend and you can choose whether or not that property is passed to them on taking out the mortgage, or whether it is none of their business and you leave the proceeds to your own family (Tenancy in Common).

Life has changed, people need to share like they didn’t in the past mortgages and salaries being what they are, and the law allows for it in a number of ways, whether or not you are blood related.  Therefore, I could have given said friend the same rights over my property as a spouse/civil partner would have and I could do the same with a sibling.  We could  buy a house together as a ’Joint Tenants‘ in order that the property is passed to the other on death (financial obligations notwithstanding).  So the arguing about Civil Partnerships is a moot point, becuase if you were contributing to the house i.e. had a joint mortgage, you would have the above options open to you.

Civil Partnerships came at a time when same-sex couple did not have those options open to them, and blood was thicker than the law when it came to the disposal of their homes.  Parents who had long rejected their children on the grounds of their sexuality could inherit their son or daughter’s home as official next of kin and leaving their child’s partner both homeless and penniless, never mind distraught.  Of course there needed to be legal recourse, for when two people join their households and finances, they aught to be the ones recouping the time, energy and resources they’ve poured into it, not have it snatched away.  This situation has now been rectified and ratified.  It is not discriminatory, it is the end of a particular act of discrimination.

If we perceive that another discimination (against singletons) exists, it is for us to fight it together as adults, not to childishly say, well if I can’t have an ice-cream you’re not having one either’ as we dash somebody elses’ hopes to the floor.

Remember this? (NB clever advert not advocating)

Maybe if we shifted that focus, we might see that inheritance tax affects everybody, including the children of the deceased, and support instead the idea that inheritance tax encourages marriage and civil partnerships consequently building a more stable society in which are tax bill is reduced as mental health, longevity and physical health are raised whilst all that drains our public purse is reduced the more happy couples society supports.

And perhaps siblings who are that close that they’ve been living together for twelve years might have a chat about wills and house-ownership before 11:59.  If it were my house and my sister, I know I would.

(Funnily enough, sibling ownership was a hot-topic some years BCE…)  The daughters of Zelophehad son of Hepher, the son of Gilead, the son of Makir, the son of Manasseh, belonged to the clans of Manasseh son of Joseph. The names of the daughters were Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah. They approached the entrance to the Tent of Meeting and stood before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the leaders and the whole assembly, and said, “Our father died in the desert. He was not among Korah’s followers, who banded together against the Lord, but he died for his own sin and left no sons. Why should our father’s name disappear from his clan because he had no son? Give us property among our father’s relatives.”

So Moses brought their case before the Lord and the Lord said to him, “What Zelophehad’s daughters are saying is right. You must certainly give them property as an inheritance among their father’s relatives and turn their father’s inheritance over to them.

“Say to the Israelites, ‘If a man dies and leaves no son, turn his inheritance over to his daughter. If he has no daughter, give his inheritance to his brothers. If he has no brothers, give his inheritance to his father’s brothers. If his father had no brothers, give his inheritance to the nearest relative in his clan, that he may possess it. This is to be a legal requirement for the Israelites, as the Lord commanded Moses.’”  Numbers 27:1-11

And He Drove the Fastest Milk Cart in the West

‘He sends emails past midnight and then you get another at 7am before he goes to morning prayer!’ this was the epitome of an accolade a leaving priest received at his good-bye recently and it echoed another I heard of a long-serving, much loved priest that could be summarised, ‘what a workaholic! He doesn’t even eat his breakfast!’

Before you lynch me, I just want to say here and now that both of the men I am talking about do/did work around the clock given the enormous task at their hands.  So yes, as most priests (and countless media professionals, doctors, teachers, security guards etc) do, they worked well beyond their contracted hours and sometimes beyond common sense in order to fulfil the nigh on impossible.  Enough said.

What deeply concerns me, though, is that I know that both of these people had other qualities that were far more deserving of epitomising.  Their prayerfulness, their deep love for people, their passion, their fidelity, their deep and constant faith and its expression.  I could go on.  I was really looking forward to hearing about character traits that perhaps had noted after him so many years.  I have to say that Archdeacon Cherry did a brilliant job of summarising his varied qualities and skills at his ‘putting in’, and my ears pricked up to hear such a rounded portrait.  But on the whole, describing a priest’s ministry these days does seem to be very much about ‘hard work’, and by ‘hard work’ what we actually mean is ‘long hours’.  Is that what any role is about or have we lost the essence of what we are supposed to be doing?

I hear more and more about the number of appointments or tasks a person has to do each day as people vie for one another as martyr of the moment without seeming to grasp that workaholism is a disease as pernicious as any ‘holism’ – alcohol, drugs, gambling, eating  - addictions fuelled by some inner conflict or wound that needs attending to or burying, or else an unmet need being pumped full of ‘I work harder than you do’ and whatever that means to them, be it self-esteem, public acceptance or evading the demon of failure.

Basically, workaholism aught never to feature as some kind of positive character trait in any person’s accolades.  

It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t flaunted and lauded by many as a badge of honour. ‘You had four weddings and funeral?  I’ve worked a double-shift because three people are off sick and I haven’t had a break since 1932!’  We’re all guilty of it to some extent or another.

I’m always struck by the BBC staff who will say with equanimity that they are coming in at 4am on Christmas Day simply on stand-by in case somebody rings in sick at the last minute, but then shrug it off saying it’s no problem, after all, they’ll be home for dinner.  Presenters who might also be rehearsing a show, recording a track, travelling up and down the country honouring various engagements. People, some of whom are voluntary (particularly in the local radio stations) who get up for work at the crack of dawn simply for the love of it.  And that makes a huge difference, for if you do something for the love of it, you don’t feel martyred by it, you feel uplifted and energised by it.

Which is where I come full circle back to the priestly vocation.  Because (correct me if I’m wrong) the vast majority of priests must surely have felt called into their vocation from a life of profound prayer and worship out of which they served others, into a full time ministry, and I very deliberately order those activities in order of importance.  Because the priestly ministry, unlike some other Christian vocations, is primarily a call to prayer and worship, for, with and on behalf of others, whilst leading (by example one would hope) others to the well of Living Water that is refreshing, re-energising and life-giving, ordering all that with do in right perspective.  Human beings, not doings might summarise it.  Who are we, not what is our role.

Of course a life of prayer and worship does become the fuel and passion and means of being lead into acts of service, voices for justice and social action, but as a result of the existing prayer life, not the other way around.  Prayer isn’t us asking God to rubber-stamp our good ideas with, ‘In the name of Jesus!’ (I once heard a fabulous priest called to be a ‘fool for God’ as he described it, who gave a genius stand-up moment describing how we wield those words like some kind of religious lightsaber in order to get what we want.  He described his own house sale which was close to the bone in respect of moving to another house and ministry, and how he was showing the prospective buyers around: ‘Here we have the beautifully spacious hall and landing, and here is the newly tiled bathroom, ‘IN THE NAME OF JESUS!  Would you like to see the bedrooms now?’)

It saddens me that I literally can’t recall the last time I heard somebody say, ‘S/He prayed and worshipped every morning – you couldn’t get hold of her before 10am,’  or noted that they weren’t writing a to-do list during a service but worshipping, or that they would regularly disappear off to pray and walk and seek out the word for those people from those readings for that week, and that the parishioners respected that and recognised it as important, not self-indulgent (since when did prayer and worship become an indulgence??!!)

Or perhaps we might hear that somebody spent so much of their time with people that you could sing for your emails, because that was the last thing on their mind as people came before admin.

Even as I write this, I know that I am just as caught up in the rat-race that we have made ministry, and I can hear the voices of frustrated priests (and consultants and managers and directors) all wishing it were so, that they too could focus on their vocation and not the paperwork.  But maybe it’s time we did just that, and suffer the consequences?  Because it strikes me, that the consequences could be really, really good.  And life-giving.  Bringing us back to ourselves, and so back to our first loves, whether that be a priestly vocation, medicine, broadcasting or writing, in turn making us better at what we do, and what we do more beneficial for those we do it for more than any amount of empty workaholism ever could?

I don’t know about you, but you know what?  I think I’m going to give it try.

For God’s sake, listen to me!

Walking down the centre of no man’s land with a hand out to either side is an interesting position to take, but core to the Christian faith as an act of reconciliation, beginning with God and humankind through to one nation with another, to one group and another, to one person and another.

The first duty of love is to listen. Paul Tillich

It’s not rocket science but seems perpetually impossible given the way that the world is riven.

I’m tempted to talk about Babel מגדל בבל‎, which for the uninitiated is the story in the Pentateuch of how humans became arrogant enough to believe that they could build a city that reached up to heaven thus making themselves superior to all other people groups, improving their reputation.  It strikes me that this is the root cause of all acts of genocide, but I have just been preparing for Holocaust Memorial Day.

‘The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention.’ Thich Nhat Hanh

I can’t imagine anyone actually building a city a minimum of six miles high, not even with today’s technologies, but suffice to say, the Lord God Almighty concerned that His omniscience might be under threat, decided to confuse the language of the aforesaid builders so that they could not communicate with one another and the whole plan went pear-shaped.  People groups of differing languages formed and there you have it, divide and conquer.  The actual story can be found here.

Yet although I would be the first to say that communication is the key issue here, I’m not so sure it’s all about language.  I’ve been listening, really listening so hard that my brain actually aches (pass me the paracetamol) because I’ve become more and more aware of a disjuncture in communication between one group of people and another.

“Silent” and “listen” are spelled with the same letters. 

I’m still cogitating and ruminating on the issue, as it could easily become Babel like in its ability to become divisive, but so far this is my flawed grasp of why some people can’t understand one another:

• let’s be honest, one mouth, TWO ears = listen twice as much as talking. (Epictetus)
• TWO eyes and one mouth.  Look at the impact you are having on others and read the body language – it’s twice as important as what is being said.
• TWO hands and one mouth – write down what you think is being communicated, or write down what you want to communicate if there is any doubt. You can be doubly assured that you got the message in black and white than with a spoken decision soon forgotten.
• dialogue not monologue - TWO points of view interacting with one another; two people taking turns to listen, reflect back, engage, not one person talking at another like rain hitting a wall.
• expect TWO opinions or more – we cannot force our opinion upon others, we can only dialogically engage with their viewpoint.
• two legs one mouth – people will walk away if one voice drowns out all others
• conflict takes TWO – don’t disagree for the sake of it – is it really that important to make you point (in your humble opinion)?

‘I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.’ McCluskey

It also strikes me that we can hear what we want to hear when we view life the universe and everything through a particular lens.  If we use the ‘I am more learned’ trump card, we actually fall behind making ourselves unable to learn something new from another perspective and run the risk of sounding like pompous asses.  If we play the ‘I am being persecuted when you don’t agree’ card then we set up innocent people and demonise them without hearing their stories.  We might throw in the ‘You can’t possibly know because you’re an outsider’ Ace, which is really pulling rank, and basically manipulative, talking of which, we might play the ‘undermine whatever is said’ card which silences anyone making themselves vulnerable enough to venture a potentially half-formed, but always worth listening to opinion.

‘S/he who has ears to hear, let them hear!’  Jesus Christ

Here at The Anchor we’ve been writing some meditations for Holocaust Memorial Day.  As we are supporting the Speak Up, Speak Out campaign, they invite people to think about speaking out for people groups such as the deaf, the LGBTQ community, travellers, political prisoners, the physically and mentally disabled and of course, Jewish people.  My hope is, that we will learn to listen more, to speak less and to respect the different opinions of others even when they are painful to hear or upset our worldview about the order of knowledge, experience and or even our faith-base. Because until we start listening, actively listening not just vaguely (and disrespectfully) hearing some words in the background as we think our own thoughts, we are never going to understand the ‘other’, and what it is like for them to experience the world we live in, the way we are treated, or even how we ourselves are perceived by whoever that other might be.

http://www.anchormediacityuk.org/events/2296/holocaust-memorial-day-at-mediacityuk

 

New Year Epiphanies?

Everyone is talking New Year Resolutions here at MediaCityUK but let’s be honest, aren’t they usually all a little bit like this:

I will lose four stone. In six weeks.

I will never drink again. Never!

I will finish my [insert course/degree/book here] by Easter and then relax all summer.

I will not fall out with [insert partner/spouse/sibling/parent/neighbour/difficult person here]

I will handle the [insert committee/group here] is such a way that it will be a joy for us all and we will make greats strides forward.  There will be no cross words and we shall all agree on everything.

I will save [insert sum twice annual salary here] by September and pay off [insert debt twice as large as the previous sum here]

I will no longer swear.

I will learn to [insert the one thing you really find impossible to do here].

Crazy, crazy impossible, doomed to failure New Year’s Resolutions.  Why DO we do it?

This week as Christians mark the Epiphany, we celebrate the wise men bringing their treasures to the Christ-Child and despite all of the doubts around numbers of wise men, gender of wise men and the actual wisdom of astronomy/astrology I guess in essence it’s all about revelation and those lightbulb moments that turn our hearts and minds around, or better still, our souls and bodies.  And of course, those moments being so profound that we are prepared to bring our all to them.

I always think that New Year’s Resolutions should be that profound, and that we should probably just pick one meaningful ever so small thing and try to spend our year bringing it to fruition.  You know, like ‘I shall take things more slowly and have time to listen to people along the way,’ or ‘I will go home for dinner with my family, enjoy their company and then catch up on ‘urgent’ emails at least three nights a week.’  Something that will not only profoundly affect our own sense of well-being but that of others, even if we are a bit chubby around the gills and still say, ‘oh Buzzcocks!’ every time we drop something.

Nobody really cares if that loving, warm, helpful person is carrying an extra pound or three, or if they can’t learn a new language for toffee.  But people never forget being disrespected as we let them know we are far too busy to stop a moment or two for them, nor take the time to make them feel valued and known as individuals with unique desires and wounds and characters.

Because that’s the real Epiphany for us all isn’t it?  Discovering that we are known by name and valued by a God who would deign to be restricted to our vulnerable humanity in order to share in our lives with us, so that we might know we are truly cared about and loved.  When I look it at like that, I wonder why so many of my resolutions are basically about me and how I feel about myself rather than about others and how I can best use my gifts to share God’s love with them.

So this year, even though my jeans might be a bit tight and I’m almost guaranteed to swear if the dog is accidentally let out, I am resolved to rush less, to listen more, and to spend more time getting to know others, and in doing so, perhaps I’ll learn more about what Emmanuel really means.

Unto Us…

…a child is born, unto us a Son is given…

I don’t know about you but one thing I love about Christmas time is the awe of children at Carol Services, Nativities and Christingles like t he one we had on MediaCityUK last week.  The way their eyes followed the flickering candlelight in the lanterns at ours or the hope that they might be chosen to light the last advent candle in Church; the magical moment as the lights dim at Christingles everywhere and children hushed by the beauty as they quietly sing a carol, the many BBC Radio Manchester programmes that produced live from all across Salford and Manchester this Christmastime as children’s tiny voices get the chance to sing on air.

I also love their proud faces as they bring their charity candle-boxes to the collection plate full of coppers they’ve been saving and the way that the sweets of their Christingles seem to disappear without anyone ever having moved!

I love they way that they can listen to the story of the nativity and ask the most profound questions, unlike some of us!

We say, ‘uh! I hate this carol, do you?’

They say, ‘Did Jesus really not have a bed?’

‘So was he homeless then?’

‘What, like that man who sleeps in town, on the benches?’

‘Can he stay at our house?’

We say, ‘Have you still got to dash around the supermarket?  Yes, me, too, we’ve not got everything in yet…’

They say, ‘Do you want one of my sweets?’

“I’m full, why do we have to have tea as well?’

‘I can’t eat any more, I feel sick.’

We say, ‘Well, you’ve got to do it, for the kids, haven’t you?’

They say absolutely nothing as they digest the fact the God knows what its like to be them, to be vulnerable, unheard, ignored and yet is breathtakingly delivered with all the magic of a waking up to fresh snow on Christmas morning, every unique flake a mystery in that Who would take the time and trouble to make the weather as exquisitely beautiful?  Who would let the no-marks hear the good news first, and from heaven as they huddled together for warmth doing the night-shift?  Who would show Their love in such a way that even the smallest child can grasp that Love came down to reveal Love, to share Love, to fulfil Love?

Christmas is that time of year when we truly learn what it means to come to God’s kingdom as little children, because it’s the one time of year that they can show us the true meaning of awe.  So if you’re feeling a bit jaded, as if the whole thing just seems slightly, well, unbelievable and your faith needs jump-starting, get yourself to a Christingle or Midnight Mass or just imagine the whole thing through the eyes of a certain Child. You never know, you might just tune back in to the awe of Christmas.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6

Advent and Ego

I love Advent, possibly more than any other Christian Season.

We wait, with real anticipation and longing because – now let’s be honest – we are actually going to see our nearest and dearest, have a few days of relaxation, perhaps go out and do something for the sheer joy of it and maybe even receive the lovely present we’ve been anticipating – as well as going to Church in all it’s various forms be that carols on a piazza as children dressed as wise travellers grin self-consciously, right through to a Priory concelebrated sung Mass complete with orchestra and incense.

Joy, joy, and more joy potentially wait around the corner. (Wait for it.)

But during this purple season, like Lent before Eastertide, we are called to reflect on our fallenness, our failings, our ego and how they impact upon our relationship with God and with one another, hence our need for a Saviour (to take up the slack).

It’s a funny old thing but sin, if I may call it that meaningfully, can either cause people to run and hide or blurt and burst as their ego deflates with the pin-prick of truth about themselves.  Call me a cappuccino and pour boiling froth on me, but actually that’s the bit I like.  The bit where I get to say, ‘Oh Lord, if only I could be a better priest,’ acknowledging what many priests will tell you is the most painful part of vocation; our call only ever shines a light on the profound knowledge that alone, we cannot begin to fulfill it.  I was deeply moved by the staff Eucharist at the Cathedral today for just that reason: a) I got to pray for myself and other priests rather than focus on celebrating/praying for others here at MediaCityUK b) many of the priests and staff all around me gave me hope and inspiration in modelling that humility.

At MediaCityUK, ego has its place – but not a throne.  I don’t mind admitting I’d expected rather more tears, tantrums and tiaras than has been the case, and I’m sure that receptionists, waiting staff and floor managers will be quick to disavow me if I am wrong, but I’ve been surprised at the lack of ego kicking around a gaff like this.

Don’t get me wrong – plenty of ego is kicking about; just not from those from whom one might expect it – or who might even deserve to have a bit of self-inflation. Ironically, they tend to be the least ‘starry’ and most pleasant to work with.  Take Aled Jones, a child star still working on national radio, in the theatre and held in the hearts of many: ego?  Not a bit of it.  What a genuinely lovely person to spend time with.  Aled was so warm he made me feel really very welcome indeed.  And yes, I was surprised that somebody exposed to the pressures and vagaries of a public life at such an early age could be as level-headed and free of egotism.  I’d like to think that both his family and his faith had something to do with that.  Mike Shaft and his team are equally friendly – they are almost family to me now!  Simon Vivien and Diane Reid, Vicky Matthews and Margaret Burgin, Aziz Rashid, each one a star in their own right and yet egotistical?  Not a bit of it! And yes, they do deserve a mention although I know you could probably name others equally deserving.

And yet… there have been and are many attacks on those who, a bit like the Reader in Rev last week, think that they can do the job better than the person filling the role.  People who think that they might be able to sing better, play better, write better, broadcast better, manage better, make more money, become more famous, put x,y or z on the ethereal map. People whose ego is still driving them to better or more, come what may and who simply cannot be happy for anybody else as their star momentarily rises.

Still, Advent reminds me that even as I ask to be chiselled (for it does hurt) into a better likeness of Christ‘s love for all, that those from whom I receive the wounds of egotistical words and wily deeds aren’t the only egotistical ones.  For we cannot be hurt by others knocking us off our spot, or stealing our thunder or even setting out to kibosh our plans unless we too are being driven by our ego.  Remember that wonderful scene in Lord of the Rings where Galadriel sees the ring freely offered to her by Frodo saying,

‘I do not deny my heart has greatly desired this,’ going on to fantasize, ‘instead of a Dark Lord you would have a Queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the Dawn! Treacherous than the sea! Stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!’

She exemplifies that even goodness can become corrupt, even light can become dangerously blinding when it demands to be fed by others in any way.  What strikes me most poignantly about Galadriel are her final words in that scene:

‘…I pass the test, I will diminish and go into the West and remain Galadriel.  I cannot do this alone.’

I cannot think of a sentence that more accurately sums up my faith or my calling to be Christ-like and follow my vocation than those poignant words.  I think when John the Baptist saw Jesus he put it like this, ‘He must increase while I must decrease.’

Our egos cannot be contained, constrained or even tamed on their own, and I truly believe that our faith and our calling to higher things as human beings is all about finding our roots in the Divine stream that allows those needs to be washed away even as we watch others take what seems to be rightfully ours, in order that we can give of ourselves, not just out of our surplus.  I guess, thinking about this as I write, I could say that if we truly kept Advent, we wouldn’t really care what we received for Christmas, or who did the washing up, nor who gained control of the remote control because we’d all be too busy making sure that others had what they needed, and felt warmly welcomed.

Which brings me back to the ’joy, joy joy, just around the corner’.  So many people have lost loved ones, jobs, children, broken relationships, health, wealth and happiness this year.  Many are still feeling utterly dislocated and without a sense of being safely anchored to ‘home’, just as the Holy Family must have.  But we could do something about that here and now, even if it was for just one person, couldn’t we?  So although it’s nearly over, I just want to say that I think Advent is more important than ever, if Christmas is to be truly Christmas, the celebration of Love come down into our chaos and our mess to say, ‘d’you know what?  You’re loved more than you could ever know.’   How then, can we not go and do likewise?

Imagine

Imagine spending your childhood thinking that you would grow up, fall in love and live happily ever after.

Imagine discovering that what everyone else is excited about not only leaves you cold but seems a bit, well, unnatural.  Put the kettle on.

Imagine falling head over heels in love and discovering that it isn’t to be shouted from the roof-tops, but brings an unimagined hatred and viciousness from people you thought knew and loved you. Friends. Relatives. People in your faith community.

Imagine being shunned.  Everywhere.

Imagine people debating whether or not you should or ought to love, as if the decision was not your own, or you were some specimen in a jar surrounded by Junior House Doctors.

Imagine being allowed to love, but not allowed to express it. Legally.

Imagine being refused your heart’s desire to love and be loved in a faithful, committed, openly celebrated relationship.

Imagine being silently told that you may so do, quietly, under the radar, because you’re OK even if your sexuality is a bit suspect. Besides, we need somebody to…

Imagine reading about people fighting in small congregations right through to white papers in parliament about your private life – or lack thereof.

Imagine hearing endless arguments about how and where and when you might celebrate your love, from those who take theirs for granted.

Imagine heading towards yet another ‘family’ holiday, tired and alone, for doing what is ‘right’.

Imagine longing for your holiday, but dreading bumping into anybody you know on it.

Imagine watching the world and it’s wife celebrating together, when they’ve forbidden you that self-same chance.

Just imagine.

Personal v Private

The public-private debate has upped the ante in Salford what with pensions strikes and privitaized piazza policing coinciding.

But is hasn’t always been such an uncomfortable fit – has it?

I am old enough to understand a sense of noblesse oblige recalled by that lovely ingenuous couple who having won the lottery large reminded us that, ‘With lots of money comes a lot of responsibility’ going on to talk about spending it wisely and helping others in their need.  It seemed a long time since I’d heard anything remotely like their words or cautious, caring wisdom from a lottery winner, or any other person raking in massive amounts of money for whatever reason.

The thing is, our sense of what is and what isn’t poverty, and what is and what isn’t expensive tends to expand to fit, a bit like our waistlines: the more we have, the larger our margin of what is affordable while conversely the less we have the richer everyone else appears to be (depsite most likely being mortgaged to the hilt).

In Salford there is considerable discontent about public money funding private space, and the public’s rightful – or is it simply permissive – access to their docklands, recreational space, a potential new public viewing screen, not to mention the University staff’s right (or not) to picket their own building.  The pay an enormous rent for the building but the land directly outside it’s front doors?  Tricky. 

Comunity events that could bring people together to celebrate the resurrection of what had been crushed from the vibrancy of an international port to a desolate wasteland could be a turning point in community cohesion and integration, or the lack of them – or being charged to enter land already publically invested in - might just tip the balance into entrenched resentment, and we all know where that leads.

As a priest with both a business (think profit, think corporate image) and public service (think public spending, best value, best practice) backgrounds I can see both sides of this coin and I guess as somebody who stands outside of both camps through the particular lens of faith, can see that the idea that they are mutually exclusive is erroneous in itself. 

Partnership and collaboration are clearly on the menu.  Social repsonsibility policies and profit margins/taxation can be equally productive on both sides.  Community cohesion, freindship and neighbourliness aught not to be replaced by a what appears to be a secure compound.

We are all learning to live and work together here at MediaCityUK, and some more than others are learning about the differing ethos of public service bodies, corporate responsibilities and the needs and expectations of the ordinary work-a-day person.  These sometimes uncomfortable tensions between public and private, coporate policy and collaboration must be wrestled with in order to create a win:win situation for all impacted by this brand new world.

It’s a tough call, and as I say, we are only just working out it’s implications and how these will manifest into the dreams of many, from a variety of perspectives.  I guess in the team-building world we’d call this the storming stage where we work out how things can or can’t work together for a settled and positive sense of the norms that will invite public and private bodies alike to enjoy living, working, studying and recreation at MediaCityUK.

 

I get that you’re a Chaplain but… you don’t REALLY believe in Jesus do you?

This quote erupted from somebody I was halfway through an hour of pastoral reflection with.  The person had talked in depth about something intensely personal and private, and had just had a break-through in their thinking when they suddenly fell quiet and looked at me quizzically.

I assumed that they were processing their lightbulb moment and stayed silent.

A very long minute or two slid quietly by.

So the question really did erupt into a profound silence in which I thought the focus was far from me or my faith.  I asked why the question had been framed.  After all, I’ve known worse distraction techniques when the going gets a bit too intense or uncomfortable and I was taken aback by the answer.

It went something along these lines (bulleted because that’s a) how my brain processes random events such as these and b) because I’m not quoting but summarising a rather long exchange)

• I’ve just had a massive emotional breakthrough so you must be helping me (ie you ‘re not stupid)
• Helping others must be really satisfying and lot of people are altruistic or charitable but not religious
• Your work here is beyond ‘churchy’ stuff and some of it does not seem to be about God
• the upshot is, how can you be switched on, making a real difference and YET believe in an unknown/seen deity?

It reminds me a bit of the attractive=sinful, plain=holy dichotomy, and I suppose it could be summed up as religious=mad or stupid, intelligent/streetwise=God? Don’t be so ridiculous!

I will have a little rant about the former in another blog, but for now I want to focus on my faith in Jesus.  I went on to share that yes, I do believe in Him, believe that He lived, died, taught, healed and was resurrected, and that I, you, we can all come into relationship with the Living God right here and now.  And that despite mountaintop experiences, no it is not an easy ride and it does not make everything alright like the fairy Godmother with her magic wand.  Jesus is there with us in our suffering, not with a time machine to remove us from it.  And there is yet another blog…

I was asked a lot of questions about what I think Jesus thinks about gays, about paedophiles, about church social events and about a number of political and social issues.  I was asked about heaven and hell.  And then just about hell. I answered as honestly and deeply and thoughtfully as I could.

The questions kept coming and I felt as if I were on Mastermind and my specialist subject was ‘Jesus Christ, Past, Present and Future.’  I was put through the ringer with some fairly profound and pointed questions. But there we are, if I do that to those who come to see me, why shouldn’t I get a dose of it myself?

Sadly, the Jesus I described was not the Jesus taught to a young child who grew up terrified of the God who watches every move and disapproves of most of them.  It was not a Christ who understood pain, sin, falling and the fallen, or who knelt in the gutter to wipe the hair from your dirty face and get you back up on your feet again.

Neither was it a faith that allowed for intelligent debate or the cut and thrust of science, psychology or genetic medicine.  Most importantly of all, the narrative of God (whether YWH, Jesus Christ, Allah or known by any other name or none) was some kind if tin-pot tea-towelled fairy-tale for children that bore absolutely no relationship to the compelling story of a child born to single mother, homeless, shivering in a stable complete not only with cattle but the stench of dung – and here I imagine – being kept warm in Joseph’s arms. TUT TUT!

A child that grew up to know what it was to be a refugee as the ran for safety from a despotic King, who grew up in a city that people sneered at, ‘Nazareth? Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’  Jesus, who never married in a culture renowned for its marital focus, who lived in a time of political oppression in occupied land and who then stood up to religious and state leaders until His unjust trial, brutal and illegal beating prior to His death row experience as He heard the crowd baying for His blood, the Blood that would turn out to be the ultimate and final sacrifice.  (Or so we Christians believe.)

So I explained that my God, or at least, what I know and understand of my God, is not that He is one step removed from the depravity and/or poverty that life throws at us, nor the snobbery, sickness, suffering and political, economic or religious oppression that we face on a day-to-day basis.  He understands being uprooted from your homeland to a place with people from another culture who really don’t want you there. He understands watching from the sidelines as those with the power, plenty and privilege plunder the penniless and those who earn a pittance, living hand to mouth.

But they didn’t know and hadn’t heard of that Jesus, they only knew about a baby, which wasn’t really a baby but somebody’s Tiny Tears and it was all a bit childish to believe in the white-bearded man in the sky who could do what you asked him if you were only good enough.

So I guess, given that, I can see why it would seem odd that most priests have higher degrees to help people sing songs about the Wizard of God, and why it might seem embarrassing to people without a faith to speak of to be confronted with those of us who give up everything to follow Him.

The person continued their sessions which were entirely refocused on them and them alone.  But when it was over  they came back to say hello and admitted that although they still didn’t believe for themselves, at least now they could see why I did, and that at least now they had something to think about for themselves, a possibility of God, of a God who can’t be discounted as a childish story or an unengaged mind.

A possibility of God.

I like that.