A welcome retreat has given me an opportunity to reflect on which paths I have walked over the last twelve months, where I lost my way, as well as those moments I barely remember because I failed to pay attention. The next step is usually to look ahead, but I am beginning to wonder whether it is possible to second guess the next journey.
Prayerfully pondering my shoes, which have been faithful friends in times of change and seem to attract a fair bit of attention, led me to consider whose shoes I would envy…? An even harder question is whose shoes I would shy away from, and for what reason? Perhaps they are the people I ought to really get to know, rather than making assumptions about what brought them and their shoes to a particular journey, and how that might feel – that feels like #radicalinclusion for our time…isn’t that where Jesus would be?
So far, summer has not afforded me as much opportunity to get out and get lost in photography as I would like. That said, I have recently been thinking through what beauty is…what it really is, not what we see it as from so many areas of society which wish to control what we want and how we look.
A few months ago I spent a week in Portugal and had the privilege of getting lost behind my camera, which was so refreshing. As well as the obligatory holiday snaps though, I wanted to capture a different view of beauty…
This was the view from our hotel room…I found it bizarre that each day these were the items which were hung to dry, and yet I saw something of beauty in the simplicity of this display.
We met a couple who were making their living through this art; one would paint the rocks the other would arrange them. Their messages were simple. For me the beauty was in the way they were seeking to challenge and their understated way of offering this to the world.
I had never been so close up to even one peacock, let alone whole families of them. Here the beauty was in what had not been previously seen, as well as in their inquisitive charm!
We had not been aware that it was PRIDE on our first day in Lisbon. Watching the parade come through the city was incredibly moving though. Again the beauty was in the simple sentiments, such as ‘Love has no limits’.
Beauty as attraction! In the square bubbles were being blown and flying off in all directions due to the wind. It was so simple, and yet fascinating to watch them, wondering how long they would last, where they would land, when they would burst.
Beauty in the simple solutions, in that which is old, or distorted by rust, beauty in that which many would not notice, or is the beauty in the blue backdrop?
Beauty in the warmth of the evening, beauty in the sunset glow.
Whilst I am not sure I managed to capture a different view of beauty, I see this as the beginning of a conversation, which I invite you to join in with. A conversation where we capture beauty in all of its awe and wonder, beauty as breath-taking because of its freshness, not as perfection but rather as imperfection, beauty as that which is not known, beauty as something which allows us to glimpse the Divine in the everyday.
Please share your images of this kind of beauty in the comments section to enable us collectively to rewrite the meaning of beauty, so that our sons and daughters, nieces and nephews and grandchildren can grow up being released and liberated by its definition, rather than constrained or imprisoned by it, afraid to go out, to wear what they really like, or to be truly and wonderfully who they are!
This morning I was at BBC Radio Leicester with Rupal Rajani taking a look at the papers for the day. It was a real joy to do this. Amongst the news we were talking around the topic of wellbeing, something we are all becoming more aware of in our lives. Rupal asked me what contemplative photography was, and asked for an example; it struck me that I haven’t blogged about that, despite it being the focus of so much of what I do write about! It is something that I just got on and did, and have come to take for granted. Yet, it is something which has such a positive impact on my wellbeing, and something of an oasis in what is so often a hectic state of being.
It is a way of being in the world, or a way of noticing the world, which comes from a stance of stillness. The contemplative seeks to go deeper within themselves in order to see what is right in front of them – which they look at but rarely actually see.
It is a practice which is like meditation, but I would call it meditative prayer, as I am seeking to draw closer to God; Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. I begin by closing my eyes and focusing only on my breathing – I ask God that I might breathe in the breath of God, and I breathe out gratitude for this moment in time, firmly transfixed on exactly what I am doing right now. How often do we do that? How often are we only focused on one thing?
For me the intention is always to see through God’s lens or, more specifically perhaps, see glimmers of God in the place where I find myself and in the people who are nearby. I seek to capture images of God as Divine Light, here with us now.
It might be something about the way they are focused…
Or that Divine Light shining through…
It might be that my attention is taken by difference and diversity. Whatever I notice I trust that I have noticed that, from the attentive stance I began with, because God wants me to see something.
Within my curacy my ‘formal’ training largely takes place through supervision and the opportunity to notice. One of the most helpful questions my Training Incumbent asks, and I notice myself asking before her now, is ‘what do you notice?’ The answer should never be a single sentence, because if we are truly noticing, that will involve what we see (and I mean really see, rather than what we are looking at), what we hear, how we feel, how others around us react, what that says about how they feel and how that impacts on how we feel.
Where in society do we have this space to reflect though? Our heads are filled with so much noise as we race from one thing to the next, before getting home in time to fulfil all that people need us to there, going to sleep and getting up and continuing the loop the next day. An article in The Guardian this week reported on a study undertaken on European robins found that their behaviour was affected by human produced noise. The bird song, when interrupted, had missed information and caused the bird receiving the information to act more aggressively, or give up too easily. Both of those responses seem all too familiar to me when I feel under pressure.
Contemplative photography is a way of relieving that pressure one drop at a time, and also a way of preventing the pressure from building up again to the same degree. I use the method of:
- Still the heart
- Intentionally seeing through God’s lens
- Noticing how what I am seeing is making me feel and noticing anything that God is saying through that
- Contemplating or sitting with some of those ideas and feelings
- After ‘SINCing with God’ in this way, prayerfully returning into the world, slightly transformed by the experience
Sometimes I end up taking a photograph of what I have seen, sometimes I use a photograph previously taken, sometimes there is no photograph, and that is the real rub of this – it is not about taking photographs, but receiving photographs (as Christine Valters Paintner writes about in Eyes of the Heart) as they are revealed by God, our Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer – after all, it is God’s lens that I am seeking to look through!
Whilst it seems a strange request, I wanted to have a visual backdrop which allows for the opportunity to almost freeze the moment…what I got was so much richer.
The realisation that there are as many ways of celebrating the Eucharist as their are priests.
We are all a product of our own experiences of the Eucharist, and those who have shaped us along our journey.
As well as providing an opportunity with God, the Eucharist affords us an encounter with those who have gone before, and have contributed in some small way to who God has formed us to be…
The Eucharist is not only a celebration of the Last Supper, but also a reminder of the diversity of God and God’s people…
Of our togetherness…
And our brokenness.
It is an outpouring of God who ‘Goes-between’ (to coin a phrase of John V Taylor) each of us, to draw us into communion with God and, most beautifully, with one another.
God meets us in the silence, in the breaking of the bread and the pouring of wine. It was a beautiful opportunity to experience this sacred meal through the eyes of another.
My sermon from our May Festival earlier this week with readings from Acts 1:12-14 and Luke 1:39-56. It was a service with great blessings, where I had the opportunity to witness mutual flourishing at its best:
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord.
My spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.
For he has looked with favour on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.
There is such depth of emotion in these words. They have become written on my heart as I sing them daily in prayer. The sentiment of Mary here is truly beautiful. Yet nowhere else can we better see the paradox of blessedness than in her life. To Mary was granted the blessing of being the mother of God incarnate. The double-edged sword of blessing was also to pierce her heart…some day she would see her son hanging on a cross. And still, as our Acts reading shows us, Mary remains dedicated to prayer. Faithful to the end. Her example is quite a challenge to us as women and men of faith. How often do our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord?
This prayerful exchange between two women is both prayer-filled and prophetic. Elizabeth recognises, as we do, that Mary has been blessed richly, indeed that she is the most blessed woman. There is no jealousy in her words, just an acknowledgment of the awesomeness of God and how Mary has found great favour in the sight of God. The absence of the broken human spirit which leads to jealousy and envy, which is so often present, is the first proclamation of the greatness of the Lord in our gospel reading.
We also see Elizabeth acknowledging Mary’s faith – how she is even more blessed because she believed. Was Elizabeth speaking from her own situation perhaps? The sequencing of events is a little unclear in this first chapter of Luke. We know that Elizabeth was also pregnant because her child leapt in the womb at Mary’s greeting. What we do not know is whether Zechariah had been visited by the angel, Gabriel, and had become mute yet. We also do not know, if that is the case, whether Elizabeth knew that Zechariah had become mute because he had questioned what the angel had said.
These details perhaps do not matter; what is evident is that Elizabeth has an understanding of blessing which relates to both being chosen by God and having the faith to trust that…even when what one has been chosen for seems unlikely, or even completely socially unacceptable.
Mary’s response to Elizabeth’s realisation and recognition is prayerful and prophetic. The first thing she does is point right back to God – acknowledging that this is about God and not about her. Her humility is just beautiful.
My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
for he has looked with favour on the
lowliness of his servant.
She moves on to consider that generations to come will call her blessed – this is such a huge blessing, it will not easily be forgotten. Equally though, future generations will not remember Mary for being Mary; they will remember her as one who was most profoundly blessed by God. That humble focus on God is a beautiful example for each of us to follow in our Christian lives and ministries.
The next part of Mary’s words seem incredibly prophetic. God’s mercy is for those who fear God. Despite how society seems to be organised, the proud, the mighty or the rich will not have the last word. Indeed, through the Messiah, God is about to overthrow all of these. It is the lowly who will receive God’s mercy. There is also a revolutionary note about feeding the hungry and sending the rich away empty; this counters ancient societal values where the rich would be taken care of and the poor sent away empty handed. I wonder whether we can claim that those societal values, which are of ancient origin, are no longer present today?
Mary speaks of God turning human attitudes and orders of society upside down. She is wonderfully aware of God’s subversive sense of justice – her knowledge and acknowledgement of this can only have been inspired by God. As you will see from looking around St Andrew’s, we are fortunate enough to be hosting some of the Methodist Modern Art Collection at the moment. There are some truly phenomenal pieces. I have been drawn to the Dalit Madonna by Jyoti Sahi. What I am most interested in with this painting is how humbly Mary, the Queen of Heaven, has been depicted. This image resonates with the humility which seeps off the page of our gospel reading. Equally, within such humility, there seems to be a profound proclamation from the soul of the artist, of the greatness of the Lord.
The Dalit Madonna seems to have a mark of stigmata on her right hand, perhaps reminding us of the inevitability of pain and suffering. Even, or perhaps especially Mary as the mother of God, bears the inevitable marks of suffering caused by the human condition of brokenness. Yet within the relationship of Jesus and Mary, we see the necessity of that suffering to create life and hope. Equally, as Mary gazes at the God-child, everything about her body language seems to point to Christ. She is in awe. She has captured the wonder of the meaning of life; that is of humanity and our relationship with divinity. As Mary gazes on Jesus here, we too are drawn in. Equally when we seize the sacrament of now, when we gaze on God in the everyday, others are drawn in. I am sure, if you spend time gazing at the Dalit Madonna, you will receive equally wonderful revelations of the living God whom we worship.
I invite you to do so after this celebration service, and think about how your soul will proclaim the greatness of the Lord over the coming week. So, how is all of this relevant for us today? Mary’s faith and words are a beautiful blueprint for Christian life and ministry; first on hearing God, however unlikely it seems, we are to trust and respond willingly and with humility:
let it be with me according to your word.
Our response should glorify God, not ourselves. In all that we do, we need to point back to God. Our place in the world, as Christian disciples with an incarnational ministry is surely to enable encounters with God. Those encounters are more likely to occur when we, with humility, give way to ourselves and allow space for God to work through us, just as Mary did. Mary also reminds us that we ought to fear God, that we ought not allow pride and conceit into our hearts, that lusting after power will not bring us any closer to God, but rather drive a rift between us and God.
Living like Mary has revolutionary, subversive potential as we seek to point back to God, acknowledging the merciful heart of God, and our brokenness before God as we humbly step out in faith to do what God requires of us. Let your soul proclaim the greatness of the Lord!
After taking a break from writing over the last few months, I am finally seeing those glimmers of God once again, inspiring thoughts and even gifting a few lines of poetry. It would be fair to say that writers block has silenced me, yet perhaps there are times when it is more important to listen than to speak, to hear rather than be heard. As I have listened, as I have lived in the mess which sometimes finds its way to each of our doors, I have found myself asking, where is God in all of this? The answer has been simple: right here, if only I would stop to look and see, listen and hear.
How different would each day be if we only had a small number of words to say, if we had to savour the opportunity to speak for those occasions when it really mattered? Would we choose to speak words of love, or hate? What would we prioritise – building others up, or knocking them down? How much of what you have said today falls into words of love and care? It is a huge challenge, but could listening change the world?
“Listen much, speak little.”
St Ignatius of Loyola
Stop the clock give me a moment just to be
to breathe and catch up with myself
to be still and remember who I am and what is important
what I hold dear and want to protect
It is so easy to lose sight of these things
in our ‘dog eat dog’ sort of world
Stepping out for some fresh air risks being left behind
overtaken or performance managed out of position
Stop the clock get off the treadmill take a moment just to be without the rest of the world overtaking!
I look around to see that EVERYTHING has stopped
everyone frozen at a particular point in time
except me who is present and able to move to see and be
In this moment I have no idea what to do
Should I stay amongst people who work against me
Would it help or hurt to know
what they think who they are emailing what about
Better to break away take time without losing
Stop the clock get off the treadmill take a moment just to be without the rest of the world overtaking!
So out I go wondering how long this freedom will last
Who is in control and to whom do I plead for more
I walk out of my office out of the building into the street
Everything and everyone has stopped
even traffic is frozen at this one point in time
The flow of coffee is at a standstill
Never before have I been so alone in an experience
unable to reach out to anyone to share the burden
Stop the clock get off the treadmill take a moment just to be without the rest of the world overtaking!
As I draw close to faces fixated on what was
lines of pain the drain of life are plain
Tiredness and overwhelming desperation are etched
where laughter lines once were
Eyes give way to souls worn away by demand
No matter how hard we try
it has never and will never be enough in our world
of instant gratification and hedonistic existence
This becomes one of those defining moments
a time when you realise there is more
so much more to be experienced and to give than this
Nothing is worth selling your soul
There will come a stage when effort and time
will be insignificant it will be finished
Living to work is admirable but what comes next
Is any job really worth the sacrifice of life itself
Start the clock get off the treadmill take this lifetime henceforth to be and let the rest of the world overtake!
As a former teacher the word detention was unfortunately part of my regular vocabulary whilst working in schools. Something perhaps less well known, thought about or understood though, was that detention was issued often not to punish, but rather with the intention of getting to know a student who was causing some sort of trouble. Troublesome behaviour often turned out to be a cry for attention, for someone to talk to about something which had been playing on their mind, or for affirmation and encouragement. These detentions then were often a new beginning, a starting point to a different way of being…even though at first sight they seemed negative, the result was actually positive.
During my time in Tokyo I visited a detention centre where the word detention seemed to have all the negative connotations and stereotypes that our minds would first jump to. Whilst in the waiting room I met a man who had settled in Japan many years ago as a foreign national. The waiting room was a funny sort of place, one of those places which helps you to forget where you are or why you are there, with a collection of toys in the corner, a television on the wall and quite a bit of coming and going. There was a strange sense of community around shared experience which encouraged conversation between perfect strangers. As conversation was initiated with this man, he was different to the others I had encountered in the waiting room. He did not want to talk, he did not want to admit any association with anything to do with the detention centre. His words still stick in my mind. He was keen for everyone to know that he was here with a friend who was visiting, nothing to do with him; “I came here years ago, but not like this. These people are something else….”
For those who were being detained who I met, the story was rather different. Most who allowed me the privilege of hearing their story had been forced to leave their homes because their lives were in danger, real danger – returning home would result in death, and not because they had committed a crime which was punishable by death. The reasons for these threats to life were based on matters which we, in the UK and the West more widely, take for granted: some may have chosen to follow a different faith to the majority; others to align themselves to an alternative political path than the ruling regime; others still because their birth has brought them into a tribe or group which is hunted. Those I spoke to were desperate to go back to their homes, yet they also wanted that to be a safe place. They did not want to live in Japan, and benefit from all that that society offers, they just wanted to be safe. Safe. It is a small word with huge meaning, with feeling which cannot always be evidenced or explained. Safe. The journey towards which has led to vulnerability and further feelings of fear following any number of years in the detention centre which I visited – most over three or four, some as long as eight years.
Other stories I had the privilege of hearing were about people who had settled in Japan. They had spouses and children, they had lived there for a number of years, and now were detained, for reasons which they could not understand. For those of us on the outside, it is easy to draw conclusions, to claim that there must have been good reason for their arrest and subsequent detention. It can be easier to convince ourselves of that, especially in the face of the deep uncertainty of no apparent reason. The harsh reality seems to be different from good reason though. Neither is it something that is only happening in Japan, far away from our homes, and where we can have any influence. @DetentionAction are working so hard to tell similar stories of people in the UK who have been detained indefinitely, whom the Home Office have detained after years of them working and paying tax in this country.
This Christmas I found myself thinking about the stories I have heard, both at home and abroad, and the real people behind them. As I witnessed the nativity story being acted out and retold in any number of ways by school children, at crib services, and carol services, I noticed how little has changed since these times. Mary and Joseph, as well as Jesus when he arrived on the scene, were refugees far away from home, strangers in a foreign land. To add further complication, once Herod had heard of the little baby born King of the Jews he ordered that all baby boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity be killed – Mary and Joseph were then fleeing for the life of this little baby. There was such hostility towards them in these stories as people of difference, people who posed a threat, and sadly that hostility still seems present in our world today, in the stories of those who are still fleeing for safety.
My prayer, as we approach Epiphanytide, is for greater understanding of the stranger, for ears that wish to hear, eyes which are willing to see, and hearts which are burdened with a deep sense of compassion for real people behind real stories, which we may prefer to ignore, yet have a duty to hear….
“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”
Martin Niemöller, 1892-1984
For a few months now, it is almost like there has been nothing to write…actually that has been far from true. There has been so much to write about, to comment on, to realise, to think through, and I have felt verbally paralysed, being unable to find the right words, find any words to express what has been going on and how I am processing it.
Following my return from Japan, I began to sense a difference, a change, in how I was encountering and developing within ministry and training in my curacy parish. In reality this had begun some time prior to going to Japan, so was not simply brought on by time away. It can be strange how time away sharpens the senses though. The change was, in part, about me, but it was also something I was beginning to sense in prayer. As I delved deeper into these feelings with others, it became clear that my training needs had changed somewhat, and could no longer be met in my current curacy. Over the course of an incredibly painful few weeks, it became apparent that I was to be pushed further out of my comfort zone, and that God was leading me to another opportunity.
Subsequently, it was announced in my diocese a few weeks ago that I am to transfer my curacy from the Parish of Stocking Farm and Beaumont Leys to the Holy Spirit Parish with the two churches of St Andrew and St Nicholas in Leicester city centre. In many ways this is a hugely exciting opportunity, and one that I never envisaged having. I have also been coming to terms with negative feelings around this completely unexpected part of the process though, and perhaps this is where the struggle for words comes.
This change is not about my failure, and yet there is something about it that feels like a failure. People often refer to this situation as a curacy ‘breaking down’, and there is a lot of pain and stigma associated with that. I have come to realise how much I value the expectations and sentiments of others, particularly as some around me have expressed disappointment and sadness about my departure. One of the church wardens, as she delivered the announcement, said that her ‘heart was breaking’. I noticed a sense of guilt welling up inside; they have warmly welcomed me and I have been greatly blessed by them. Yet, I have failed them because I am not keeping my word – my parish expected me to be with them for three years; instead, I will leave them after a little over 18 months. How often do we make promises, in good faith, that we cannot keep? What words do we use to reassure people, to let them hear that which will offer comfort, without the foresight to truly know that we will be able to keep our word?
I am a huge fan of the film, The Invention of Lying which explores the power of words. People are unable to say something which is not true, until one individual finds himself doing just that by “saying something…that wasn’t” and baffling his friends when he tries to explain what happened. What would you not have said today if bound by this criteria, if you were unable to offer comfort or care by suggesting something that you believed, but could not be certain of? I was always encouraged not to lie as a child, and I have an aversion to those who lie to me. What about mistruths, though, that we convince ourselves are a kindness rather than an actual lie – how many of those get through our in-built lie detectors completely unnoticed?
So here I am, eagerly anticipating a new path, a different opportunity, whilst struggling with the guilt of failing those I leave behind…a guilt which may well not be mine to hold. I am beginning to wonder whether this guilt points to something of note: God can work powerfully through each of us when we allow that, perhaps it is our humanity which focuses on the emotion of such an encounter, and less on the encounter itself and what God may have been revealing within that. If you were to savour one sentence or phrase from a memorable encounter, what would it be? What is it about those words that draw you? Do they speak truth, do they comfort, or did they reveal something of the divine in a life-changing way?