It's all around!

I find silence in the most unusual places!! I reflected on that over the weekend because it struck me on my journey home on Friday night that the two hour train ride is an oasis of silence for me! OK it is punctuated by emails - if I choose to open them - and the chatter all around me but generally speaking I can block that all out and find real solitude and refreshment.

I've known I cherish the weekly commute for a while now. I use it to write. I use it to just stare out of the window and drink in the enormity of the created order and its subtle changes. I use it to ground myself in the comfort of the changing seasons. The first signs of spring are now beginning to show. Catkins hang from slender twigs, their fluffy bright yellow beauty standing out against the drabness of their surroundings. They catch the eye and warm the heart.

I also found silence in my garden on Saturday - though the noise of my neighbourhood was a constant. I was unaware of the hustle and bustle of transport and families going about their business. Instead I was absorbed by the wonder of nature unfolding all around me. Determined spear-like shoots pushing through the sodden, caked ground. Buds on branches fattening and some even beginning to burst. The optimism of spring shrouded me.

Silence is a source of refreshment for me in so many ways...

It can be scary

Silence that is!  I sort of touched on that yesterday as well, but before I go any further I meant to put the link to the whole series into yesterday's post so here it is:

http://www.standrewholborn.org.uk/church-life/lent-book-2013

I awoke in the middle of the night last night - its not unusual for me so I wasn't anxious or worried but I didn't go back to sleep immediately.  My mind had been pondering on the the reflection and the link that is sometimes made between silence and death.  The silence can be quite deafening in the middle of the night.  Somehow it gets compounded by the darkness and has the potential to become menacing.  Illnesses always seem worse during the dark hours and I am sure I read somewhere that death 'snatches' people away in the wee small hours more than it does in the bright light of day.  Our bodies rhythms are at their low ebb and we feel/are vulnerable.

When I was a child the house we lived in had a strip of wood in front of it and half the road had a HUGE, dense holly hedge along the path.  It did seem huge to a child but in reality it was probably only 8ft tall.  I got used to walking down the road on my own and then when I went to high school the shortest route home was through another piece of woodland (I suspect they were once all one). I loved the sense of being at one with that piece of wood as I walked through it on dull evenings and dark nights.  I was a strange child!  But it never felt silent - there was my footfall for a start, the rustle of leaves on the ground and the sighing of the twigs and branches above me.

maybe its because I'm an eternal optimist... but silence always seems pregnant to me.  Full of possibilities.  Redolent with potential abundance... as the reflection highlighted the silent death of winter hides the plentiful promise of spring.

Silence doesn't have to be scary...

Silence - and listening to it!

No, I haven't gone mad, though I do know there is a whole record that is devoted to silence, the concept of "hearing" silence is quite a bizarre one! 

My London church has a tradition (well its been doing this for about 7 years now) of writing its own Lent booklet and this year our theme is "Listening to..."   Yesterday was Ash Wednesday (or the day after Pancake Day as I suspect many may now refer to it as) so we started our Lenten journey with the theme for these next few days being Listening to Silence.

Its odd how little things happen during the day that suddenly all add up by the time you're in bed and about to go to sleep!  I started the day VERY early (I'm looking for accolades here!  Not!) I went to Mass at St Mary's Willesden at 6.30am with my friend Sarah.  The little sermon (aka homily) was great, the priest talked about the silence of the Judean desert and his own experience of that on a pilgrimage.  He also talked about how difficult it was to find silence in our lives but how that was less tricky than carve out some solitude.

Turn the clock forward just over 12 hours and I was back in church - at St Andrew's Holborn, where I am to be found most Wednesday evenings - listening to more pearls of wisdom from our Guild Vicar, Lyle. He was, of course, speaking directly to the theme of silence and how hard it is to still our minds and eradicate any stray thoughts so that the sounds of silence can creep into our consciousness (I'm now interpreting his words in my own way!).  He went on to expand that to illustrate how important it can be to listen to our inner self, one of the sounds that is often drowned out by our busy world and crowded minds.

Then in the pub afterwards, a friend reminded me that I wasn't always able to clear my mind and just 'be'...  There was a time in my life when the demands of young family and all the other paraphernalia I had in my life at the time stopped me clearing my thoughts; actively prevented me from listening to silence.  It was also a time when, had I stopped to actually clear my mind and allow the silence to 'get to me' that I might have crumpled and not been able to carry on.  The thought of confronting some of the things I was burying deep down was too scary.

Silence is a gift and a balm but only when we are strong enough to cope with all that we will hear...

On the cusp of a new year

This is sunset over Point Loma from Coronado Beach... a stunning display almost pyrotechnic in its splendour and depth of colour.  We have been experiencing the festive season on the west coast of America. Its rather strange in some ways - scenes of snowmen and lights in the shape of snowflakes adorn many front gardens and houses - and yet the nearest snow is a short plane ride or long car journey away.  Most days are sunny and balmy - high 60's - low 70's sort of weather - but the nights are quite chilly and refreshingly so. 

We have both our 80+ year old mothers with us so that they too can see where their granddaughter calls home.  Both will have a birthday whilst away and we reflected as the first passed that when she was born the thought that this new baby girl would spend a birthday in her 80's watching the sun go down over the Pacific would have seemed impossible for her parents to imagine let alone comprehend.

But time passes and society 'advances' - though I use that phrase to imply that our understanding of technology and the scientific wisdom that underpins it is what moves on. In reality our basic instincts remain the same.  The world is still scarred by misuse of power and injustice, diminished by poverty and greed.  We still witness the destructive forces of war and watch on as innocent masses are displaced or, worse, injured as a consequence.  We watch on impotently as the pain of centuries are perpetuated into the present day.

With each sunset there is the promise of a fresh new day.  With the passing of the year is the hope of a bright new dawn for our world.  Yet we rarely seem to learn the lessons of the past and step out bravely into the future with resolve to improve...

May 2013 be a year of joy and blessing for you and yours

An Open Letter to the church I love

There is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For, ‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’  (Romans 10. 12)

Since I woke this morning, I have felt compelled to write this letter.  I sat through the whole debate on Tuesday but not once did I feel moved to speak and offer a chance to engage in debate.  I never had a sense that I could reveal a fresh aspect to the struggle in which we remain engaged.  However, I now feel completely different and am convinced that in my own journey and personal struggle there maybe something that all those who share my love for this our church could recognise. 

The verse above has just ‘popped’ into my email inbox – it is our Patronal festival next week and those will be the first words I read at our Mass to celebrate the occasion.  The timing and their inclusivity leapt out at me and, with that in mind, let me share my journey with you… I hope you will be able to stick with it through to the end.

I had a shock when I turned up my first hustings as a naive candidate in the autumn of 1990, everyone was only interested in one thing – how would I vote on the issue of the ordination of women to the priesthood?  (And why hadn’t I referred to it in my election address!)  For me, personally, women’s ministry has never been anything other than obvious.  I am not a feminist and I don’t particularly like inclusive language; I’m happy to be called a son of God.  I was fortunate enough to spend my formative faith years in an open evangelical setting where our Vicar encouraged me to take an active role in leading worship and the decision-making process that is the PCC.  I was standing for General Synod because God had called me to that role and I was testing it.  My address spoke of the numerous issues that motivated me – principally how to spread the gospel to our nation. It was a BIG shock!

I was successful and joined Synod in November 1990 and have been a member continuously since the.  I was there in 1992 on the day when we approved the Measure to allow women to become priests.  I wrote a report for my deaneries after that was titled “No Joy” simply because for me there was none.  How can you rejoice when anxiety is etched on the face of your neighbour? 

As I approached this week, echoes of that day twenty years ago crowded my mind.  I tried to recall whether it had been as dull and miserable on that day too.  I walked into Church House and the tension was palpable. There were moments of great beauty on Tuesday – starting with our worship.

It is hard not to play “compare and contrast” when I’ve had the privilege of being present for both those debates and I now see that in that very exercise I may discover the potential of finding a little kernel of truth that might unlock the gate to a way forward.

In 1992 there was a real sense in which the debate grew during the day.  The speeches were traded across the floor in a respectful manner, of course, but the arguments were developed and built on.  A true debate ensued and by the end of the afternoon when we all agreed the time had come tens of people sat down and there was a sense of grace and generosity in the room.  Some brave people changed their minds that day and their response to the movement of the Spirit through our midst meant that we managed just to attain the two thirds needed in each House.  Though there was no electronic voting, and therefore no public access to how everyone voted, we each walked through a door in full view of our colleagues and friends.  I knew two of those who ‘moved’ in the House of Laity, both were women and both came into that chamber that morning thinking they would vote against the Measure.  The price of their listening was costly.

Fast forward twenty years and I have to admit that I was impressed by the level of speeches that we heard in the morning and again very early after lunch.  However, as the afternoon wore on the speakers become more robust and I detected a sense of entrenchment.  By late afternoon there was something that almost verged on ‘competitive applause’!  The atmosphere “hardened” perceptibly, which was illustrated by the fact that several people, a dozen or more, felt unable to sit down and tried to say something lucid and fresh within a thirty second speech limit.  I failed to pick up that grace and generosity I had sensed all those years ago.  It felt more like the battle lines had been drawn and my heart felt heavy.  The inevitability that we would not pass this Measure hung in the air as the debate drew to a close.  I should mention here though that in many ways we failed to debate the Measure as people stood and gave prepared speeches; there was none of the frission of the verbal sparring we’d experienced before.

So, we are where we are.  As a Synod we are divided; that is the reality.  As a Church we are, at best confused and puzzled.  How could the will of the Dioceses be countermanded?  As a nation we are perplexed, angry and increasingly distanced.  How can gender cause such a furore?  What next?  Where next?  How can we begin to pick up the shattered pieces of the church I love?  Of the church that we ALL love?  And therein lies the kernel of the problem…

We are where we are because we all love this church.  This crazy, broad, colourful, frustrating, annoying, inspirational, national church.  It’s in our blood. It’s formed our lives.  It’s shared our special moments – celebrating our joy and mourning our sadness.  We are all here because we want to be.

To all ordained women and those whose vocation has been tested and are in training I want to say that I share your anger and frustration, your deep pain and shock. It’s only human to feel all those raw emotions and much more.  I want to thank you for the new perspective you have given to our church, your ministry has been a breath of fresh air.  But equally, I want to urge you not to vent your disappointment in a way that fails to acknowledge the cornerstone of our Christian faith – to love our neighbour as ourselves.  Hold fast to the truth that our church, your church, wants to see some of you in the servant role of bishop.  That is undoubted and has been passed with a great majority.  I know many who voted against the Measure who long to see you take your rightful place alongside your brother bishops.  The biggest challenge I face in my life is genuinely to show Christ’s love to those I find instinctively unlovely.  To search through the haze of distaste and see God reflected in their eyes.

To all those who voted against the Measure this week I want to say you can trust our church, your church.  I know you feel marginalised and under threat, unwanted and misunderstood.  But, I heard the reassurance I needed to in the debate from those who lead us.  Their promise to continue to welcome, nourish and cherish your ministries was clear to me but obviously not to you.  I don’t want to be part of a church that loses its inclusivity.  I recognise that you have actively chosen to stay within our church, not to deliberately thwart women’s ministry out of spite but because this is your church too.  It formed you as it formed me as it formed our ordained sisters.  I completely recognise that in many cases it would be easier to walk away (as some have done) but I want to thank you for staying,  It’s the harder road to take but it does mean we have a chance of retaining our distinctive rainbow church that is the envy of many.  I believe that you have listened but I want to urge you to engage with those you currently can’t trust; to revisit the theological issues that are proving a stumbling block for some and to work through why the law of the land feels more secure than the word of your father’s in God.

To the House of Laity not just in General Synod but for all those who faithfully sit in our pews I want to say that I know we all feel perplexed, possibly even embarrassed.  I hear people all around me asking ”how did it come to this?”.  Recent history has shown that our House has always been on a knife edge when it comes to all the ‘big issues’ so this should come as no surprise.  What I would say to everyone in our parishes and deaneries is that we must learn to value and use our votes carefully when it comes round to the next election in three years time.  Take an active interest, challenge the views of those who stand.  We need  a robust House of Laity.  What we must not do is rush into anything precipitate or look for a scapegoat.  We must start to listen to and engage with one another in a different way.

To the House of Bishop’s I would beg you to remain firm, continue to show leadership and model acceptance of one another’s difference in love.  I think the Measure is a hair’s breadth away from being acceptable.  I would urge you to think about how we can bring it back in the life of this Synod, we must finish what we have started because we hold the collective memory of what has already been said; we have the responsibility to see it through.  I firmly believe we have time.

I want to end on a personal note because in the act of penning this letter I have been rather presumptive in assuming that I have anything distinctive to say to you all.  However, I feel that I personally encapsulate this struggle.  I’ve already shared my place of birth and formation as being from the very evangelical wing of our beloved church.  But, I’ve been on a journey, especially in the last fourteen years when my job moved me to London to live and work through the week.  My instinctive reaction was to find a church that I could join, that would be a locus in the week and provide me with a group of like minded people to meet.  God led me to a wonderfully eccentric church that has expanded my experience of being church and allowed my faith to deepen; even blossom.  This year, having been an active member for eleven years, the annual meeting agreed that I should shadow the current wardens with a view to potentially becoming a fully-fledged one next spring.  I know it has no legal meaning but I feel proud to be their ‘deputy’ warden, maybe even their warden ‘designate’.  That church is very much from the Anglo-Catholic tradition but in it I have found my spiritual home.  To say we are an eclectic bunch would be a big understatement but we share a deep love for our God and a profound love of our church, the Church of England.  It was to that church I went on Wednesday evening feeling drained and deflated.  It was there I sat next to my dearest friend who had voted against the Measure.  There, together united in our pain, we sought the balm of the sacraments and the comfort of hug of peace.  I love and cherish my fellow pilgrims who gather in that place.

I do not want to be part of a church that does not cherish those fellow pilgrims; it would be a paler reflection of God’s immeasurable diversity.  I truly believe that “there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him”.  I urge each and everyone of us to call on His generous love that we might begin to see one another as He sees us and learn to humbly live out that love to those we find unlovely.

Going back!

Its now just over a week since we arrived in Jerusalem after a full on day that took in farewell to Galilee, the Jordan River, Masada, the Dead Sea and Jericho!

The next morning - Wednesday, a week today - we set out to 'do' Holy Week and I've already blogged about some of it but not all... 

As I told you, we started early, in fact we so early we were the very first group into Pater Noster church. I loved the way Khalil described as being like a French embassy - the land belongs to France so the flag flies there.

Khalil is full of pearls of wisdom and little sayings that capture the essence of something. This morning's gem was - Jerusalem is a mosaic of peoples. The more you experience the city the more it becomes patently true. From there we took our palm crosses and started our journey following Christ's last week in a day. From adulation to agony and beyond pain. It was hot and the path very steep - so not an easy route to take. We had Mass under the olive trees in Gethsemane... Another privilege.

The way of the cross or Via Dolorosa was not as crowded and bustling as it had been last time but still you could get an impression of what it must've been like carrying the cross. Through the heat and heckling, being jostled and jeered. To 'escape' that and find yourself on the top of Calvary (in the shape of the Orthodox Ethiopian church) is in many ways a relief. You know journey is nearly over...

We ended up (as usual) on the roof of the church of the Holy Sepulchre and in the Ethiopian part of the church. When our devotions were over, and the obligatory group photo had been taken, two of us stayed on to attend Vespers in the Ethiopian church. Its rather hard to explain the wonderful deep tonal chanting in a way that will do it justice but observing the ritual was a truly uplifting experience. They lean on their wonderful wooden 'crutches' that tuck neatly under their arms, occasionally stopping to have a little conflab about who will do the next bit... or so it seemed - though i could be wrong.  it was simple but beautiful.  Now great choir or musical accompaniment but just delightful worship.

The Ethiopian church is clearly not as affluent as its close neighbours. There is also someone on each of the three levels - the roof, the upstairs chapel and the ground level one. All three 'guards' - because that is how they appear - sit there silently or quietly reading the Scriptures all day every day. I know that their vows drive them but I suspect there is also a need to protect property... and to try and ensure that their building isn't used as a thoroughfare at the most inappropriate times. Its a shortcut to the church of the Holy Sepulchre that sadly gets rather abused as people rush to see the 'main show'!

I was happy to just 'be' there

unpacking!

Its fascinating hearing myself reply to the variations of "how was your holiday"?

For a start it didn't feel like a holiday at the time and even more so now on my return.  It was draining but then I expected it to be.  However, I still feel like I want to grumpily refute the contention that it was a holiday.  Yes - I got on a plane.  Yes - I stayed in lovely hotels in great locations.  Yes - I visited a lot of special sites, some more tourist-y than others. But I never once saw it as a holiday, nor did it feel like one.

The other popular question is did you enjoy it more than last time?  The answer to that is quite simple... there is no way that I can compare the two.  One was virtually all new and fresh.  The other was mostly familiar.  The two groups I travelled with were similar, with some common pilgrims but even so the dynamics were different.

So it was a pilgrimage, definitely not a holiday, and it was not comparable with the previous trip.

The next question is invariably "what was best"?  Now that one has caused me to chew it over even more.  All sorts of ideas came to mind but only one stuck there.  The best part of the last few days were the "A" team.  Our driver, Riyadh, and our guide Khalil.  They both made our journey so special and so illuminating.  Yet both were - are - Muslims... however, there was not one person on our journey who didn't agree with that evaluation.

Pilgrimages are about journeys and the companions we find along the way.  Often it is those people, those friends who make or break the journey.  The "A" team made it and were undoubtedly were the best feature!

By the way - the physical unpacking of clothes and other sundry bits - still has to be attacked but that will eventually get done once I get back home - to Norwich...