Quite a different day today. Thanks to a colleague who was unavailable I was asked to take part in a debate on Halloween for the BBC Radio Wales programme All things Considered with Roy Jenkins (to be broadcast on Sunday). I'm always fascinated by the workings of Radio and TV, getting behind the scenes of something we only see from the other side. Not many people get the opportunity, so I was glad to say yes. I joined three others in the debate: a retired Roman Catholic priest called Fr Ambrose, Elin, a Christian historian (on the phone line) and Ray, an evangelical minister. I suppose I was not surprised by much of what the latter said: I knew I would often be a hundred miles away from much of his belief system. After the debate the conversation continued, until we were politely kicked out of the studio! Apparently, so he told us and so the statistics go, there are more Christians on earth at the moment than there are in heaven. Which was was a discreet way of saying that among the millions and billions of people who have followed Jesus in the past only those who followed his belief system have been 'saved' and get in through those symbolic pearly gates. I asked him if I was saved? The answer was rather vague!
Sometimes vague answers are good, especially when talking about the life of heaven. We can get caught up so much with the whats and hows and 'what's it like' and 'how do you get there 'and 'what do you mean by that' and 'why do you say what you say!' But it was fairly frustrating (though peculiarly predictable) that the answer to my question to his specific statistics on my own salvation was vague, to say the least! It was, perhaps, an avoidance of saying what he really wanted to say to me. But who knows?! I don't see things from his side of things!
The 'born again' experience necessary to the salvation of which he spoke was an event in time, a specific moment of accepting Christ as Saviour. All well and good but it said nothing about the ongoing conversion that one experiences when following Jesus, that continuous dying to self. It omitted the gentle moulding and remoulding, the mistakes and meanderings, the seeking and searching, the being found and the gentle acceptance of the person we are - as well as the person God wants us to be. It missed out the mending of broken hearts that come from a lifetime of pain and sometimes too much pleasure. And so I find myself, right now, left with a rather vague and unsatisfactory spiel on salvation, trying to get behind the scenes of something we only see from our side and, even worse, trying to plough through it in three paragraphs! So am I saved? I suspect God has a little more patience and understanding than we often give him credit. And considering my own little life that's just as well.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Flicking through Prayer
I had a little treat today. I had £50 of book tokens to spend. I tried to spend them the other day but after half an hour of wandering aimlessly around Waterstones I left empty handed (apart from my two £25 tokens!) I guess I just wasn't in the mood for picking or choosing. Today, though, I was more amiable in my amblings and, clutching my bag, I wound my way from Waterstones to pick my way through the first of the books (finding myself, as I did, in O' Neil's for a quick Guinness and the first chapter). Reading, for me, is quite a sporadic occupation. I can read book after book after book, even at times finding myself having more than one book on the go, and other times I can go for weeks or months without turning a page. I have learned to be content with this: it's just the way I am!
It strikes me, too, that the way I read is often the way I pray. There can be times when prayer is like a page turner, an eager flick through the leaves that lie waiting to be devoured, craving the moments sneaked through the day when I can delve into those dark, deep, lovely moments of being alone with God. And other times it is laboured and languid, accompanied by little enthusiasm or devotion and sometimes missed altogether. I have learned to be content with this: it's just the way I am! Prayer is something that's so often spoken about and written about (I'm doing it now!) and read with eager longing, like looking through a cookery book, your juices flowing and craving the delights that lie within and which could so easily be brought to life with a little work and a few ingredients. The French priest Michel Quoist once wrote a prayer that contained the words 'so that all of life becomes prayer.' Yes, we do need those times aside, I know, those ordered, organised, ordinary times of flicking through the pages or delving into something deeper but it's only in order that the whole of life becomes prayer. Prayer is an attitude of life, a spiritual awareness and an openness to God that pervades and embraces the whole of our being. Not that the ideal of the latter should become an excuse for not going aside and getting down to the 'act of prayer,' of course. But there are many ways of prayer and many ways of praying, and the reason many of us find it so difficult is because we haven't recognised or acknowledged that what we are already doing is prayer in some kind of way.
So, back to me in the pub with a Guinness in my hand, flicking through the pages of my new book. It was a delicately human book and the words were beautifully spun, carefully chosen and fragile like a spider's web: the true story of a woman's heart breaking and finding her way through frustration and pain. They were only a few brief moments spent, snapped up from the busyness of the day, but there, for me at least, all of life had become prayer. And so, if I find myself intensely seeking out moments of prayer, pouring my way through words and silence, all well and good. And if I don't, then I have learned to be content with it: it's just the way I am!
It strikes me, too, that the way I read is often the way I pray. There can be times when prayer is like a page turner, an eager flick through the leaves that lie waiting to be devoured, craving the moments sneaked through the day when I can delve into those dark, deep, lovely moments of being alone with God. And other times it is laboured and languid, accompanied by little enthusiasm or devotion and sometimes missed altogether. I have learned to be content with this: it's just the way I am! Prayer is something that's so often spoken about and written about (I'm doing it now!) and read with eager longing, like looking through a cookery book, your juices flowing and craving the delights that lie within and which could so easily be brought to life with a little work and a few ingredients. The French priest Michel Quoist once wrote a prayer that contained the words 'so that all of life becomes prayer.' Yes, we do need those times aside, I know, those ordered, organised, ordinary times of flicking through the pages or delving into something deeper but it's only in order that the whole of life becomes prayer. Prayer is an attitude of life, a spiritual awareness and an openness to God that pervades and embraces the whole of our being. Not that the ideal of the latter should become an excuse for not going aside and getting down to the 'act of prayer,' of course. But there are many ways of prayer and many ways of praying, and the reason many of us find it so difficult is because we haven't recognised or acknowledged that what we are already doing is prayer in some kind of way.
So, back to me in the pub with a Guinness in my hand, flicking through the pages of my new book. It was a delicately human book and the words were beautifully spun, carefully chosen and fragile like a spider's web: the true story of a woman's heart breaking and finding her way through frustration and pain. They were only a few brief moments spent, snapped up from the busyness of the day, but there, for me at least, all of life had become prayer. And so, if I find myself intensely seeking out moments of prayer, pouring my way through words and silence, all well and good. And if I don't, then I have learned to be content with it: it's just the way I am!
Monday, 22 October 2007
It's Out Of My Hands!
The weekend is over and so is Access all Areas - an all day youth event at Rhondda Fach Sports Centre that we held on Saturday. Well, it's not quite over! I've still got the unloading of the van, the return of hired equipment and the unpacking and repacking of boxes before they become a mountainous obstacle in my hallway! In fact, over the last month, any visitors to my home have had to wind their way through an obstacle course of trunks and boxes and various other items - and at times it has been a job to even open the front door fully! I'm not the neatest or tidiest of people but being surrounded by such things does grate on you after a while and makes life that bit more difficult! The diocese has finally agreed to pay for some storage (an ongoing request for several years!) although I'm still waiting for the post to arrive in the hope that the documents I need to make this possible will be in my hands by this afternoon, and that by this afternoon the equipment will be well and truly off my hands! And that's a good thing!
Access all Areas was a good day, with lots going on - and the Sports Centre hall was a busy hive of activity. Most people seemed to enjoy themselves. It's really difficult to evaulate an event or initative that you have created and planned. Your expectations are so different from those attending. There is an image in your mind of how you want or think things should go and there is a danger of evaluating things in a despondent manner because it felt different or went different! Latterly, I have learned to be content with offering something and letting it have a life of it's own. I'm still a slight control freak but I am content, when the event is over, to be open to the possibility that the small seeds of something may grow out and elsewhere. Yes, it is important to evaluate and see where things could be improved but many things that grow and happen are just out of our hands! And that's a good thing.
It strikes me that this is the case for all of us but particulalry for priests. So much of what is done goes unnoticed and we never know the effects and fruits that grow from an encounter or something said or done. Our life can become cluttered with wondering what was the point of something or was there any worth in what we did or what we do. All good, from one point of view (including financially!) but from another, more personal and profound point of view, it's not really any of our business. So, today, I shall be content with unloading the Luton Van, returning the hired equipment, gathering up the fragments of a day's busy events, and let God do what he wants to do with whatever we have given him. And that's a good thing!
Access all Areas was a good day, with lots going on - and the Sports Centre hall was a busy hive of activity. Most people seemed to enjoy themselves. It's really difficult to evaulate an event or initative that you have created and planned. Your expectations are so different from those attending. There is an image in your mind of how you want or think things should go and there is a danger of evaluating things in a despondent manner because it felt different or went different! Latterly, I have learned to be content with offering something and letting it have a life of it's own. I'm still a slight control freak but I am content, when the event is over, to be open to the possibility that the small seeds of something may grow out and elsewhere. Yes, it is important to evaluate and see where things could be improved but many things that grow and happen are just out of our hands! And that's a good thing.
It strikes me that this is the case for all of us but particulalry for priests. So much of what is done goes unnoticed and we never know the effects and fruits that grow from an encounter or something said or done. Our life can become cluttered with wondering what was the point of something or was there any worth in what we did or what we do. All good, from one point of view (including financially!) but from another, more personal and profound point of view, it's not really any of our business. So, today, I shall be content with unloading the Luton Van, returning the hired equipment, gathering up the fragments of a day's busy events, and let God do what he wants to do with whatever we have given him. And that's a good thing!
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
'In the Tender Compassion of our God...'
It's not my place, or the place of this blog, to spill too much out into cyberspace. I suppose with any kind of writing there has to be restraint and responsibility and that is certainly the case today. I try to write from things I've seen or heard or done - although, more often than not, I will have chosen a rather mundane matter in order to extricate something more, perhaps. Yesterday, of course, was the sentencing of Geraint Evans who killed Fr Paul Bennett (a friend of mine since I was young) and I wish to exercise restraint because so much is said and quoted and I would not wish to say anything without Fr Paul's family giving me any kind of permission.
As I sat in the court yesterday I was, of course, filled with many emotions and thoughts but this is not the place to share them. I had never been in a Crown Court before and so this was new territory, a new experience, tinged with the saddest of circumstances. I suppose I had expected it to be cold in atmosphere, a strange, distant place that exercised justice in a highly charged atmosphere. Perhaps I thought it would be clinical, a conveyor belt of cases to be carried on and carried out. But one of the things that struck me in the midst of the raw and disabling emotion around me was the way that justice could be delivered with such compassion, sensitivity and gentleness to the people involved in the case.
When people think about what we mean by 'God's Judgement' they think quite often of wrath and anger, a vengeful vacillation with bulging veins. And it's a mistaken one. Of course, there is anger in the hearts of people affected by acts of injustice and they do not disappear in a day, if at all. And yes, there is pain, that always leaves its mark, and people are left broken hearted - and the heart is not easily healed. But yesterday, amongst so many other things, I was struck by the Judge who was so sensitive to the feelings of the family and those he knew to be within the court. He was considerate and compassionate and I never once thought that this was a man going through the motions. Yes, there was the directness of his sentencing at the end which he delivered, of course, with deep seriousness, his words loaded with an emotion that expressed the seriousness of the crime. But I learned yesterday that the way of dealing with acts of injustice, and the way of judgement, can and should be done with tenderness. And I thank God for that.
'In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who live in darkness, under the shadow of death.' Luke 1:78-79
As I sat in the court yesterday I was, of course, filled with many emotions and thoughts but this is not the place to share them. I had never been in a Crown Court before and so this was new territory, a new experience, tinged with the saddest of circumstances. I suppose I had expected it to be cold in atmosphere, a strange, distant place that exercised justice in a highly charged atmosphere. Perhaps I thought it would be clinical, a conveyor belt of cases to be carried on and carried out. But one of the things that struck me in the midst of the raw and disabling emotion around me was the way that justice could be delivered with such compassion, sensitivity and gentleness to the people involved in the case.
When people think about what we mean by 'God's Judgement' they think quite often of wrath and anger, a vengeful vacillation with bulging veins. And it's a mistaken one. Of course, there is anger in the hearts of people affected by acts of injustice and they do not disappear in a day, if at all. And yes, there is pain, that always leaves its mark, and people are left broken hearted - and the heart is not easily healed. But yesterday, amongst so many other things, I was struck by the Judge who was so sensitive to the feelings of the family and those he knew to be within the court. He was considerate and compassionate and I never once thought that this was a man going through the motions. Yes, there was the directness of his sentencing at the end which he delivered, of course, with deep seriousness, his words loaded with an emotion that expressed the seriousness of the crime. But I learned yesterday that the way of dealing with acts of injustice, and the way of judgement, can and should be done with tenderness. And I thank God for that.
'In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who live in darkness, under the shadow of death.' Luke 1:78-79
Monday, 15 October 2007
It's Raining Again!
I'm often tempted when starting to write my blog at this time of night to say 'It's been a long day...!' It's never because it's been a particularly long or even eventful day but just because I'm tired, I guess! Mind you, I'm always tired. I could, to coin a phrase, 'Sleep on the edge of a wet Echo!' which is a strange way of saying that I could sleep anywhere! I am often jealous of people who need little sleep or those people who are up bright and early, bright and sprightly to, as they are so intent on saying, 'Catch the best part of the day!'
The best part of the day, I think, is mid morning. It's still got the bright freshness of the morning without the languid feel of the afternoon when bodies and minds stumble into a tired, tiresome lull. I think that the Spanish have it right with their siesta. You can't beat a sleep in the afternoon! Mind you, we don't have the high sun as an excuse. Damn the weather! Which is what Michael Fish must have said several times through the last twenty years as we remember the anniversary of the great storm of 1987. He made a welcome guest appearance tonight as he returned to the BBC's Six O' Clock news to give the weather report. What am I doing?! It must have been a long day! I must have very little to talk about or report - I've ended up talking about the weather!
In fact there has been quite a lot that's happened today. The problem is that most of the stuff that we do becomes so routined or run of the mill that we can fail to see the miracle in the midst of the mundane. I have a friend who loves the weather. He is easily humoured by hurricanes and fascinated by fine rain! He would make a good meteorologist and knows far more about the weather than I would care to learn! But even something like getting on the inside of the weather reveals so many natural phenomena that usually pass us by and is then taken for granted. In fact it becomes, for us, something to complain about, an object of dissatisfaction. It's too hot, too cold, too dry, too wet! We're never pleased. What miserable people we are! I think we need a change! Oh, look. It's raining outside. Fine drizzle. The worse kind. So wet and damp and dark. How lovely!
The best part of the day, I think, is mid morning. It's still got the bright freshness of the morning without the languid feel of the afternoon when bodies and minds stumble into a tired, tiresome lull. I think that the Spanish have it right with their siesta. You can't beat a sleep in the afternoon! Mind you, we don't have the high sun as an excuse. Damn the weather! Which is what Michael Fish must have said several times through the last twenty years as we remember the anniversary of the great storm of 1987. He made a welcome guest appearance tonight as he returned to the BBC's Six O' Clock news to give the weather report. What am I doing?! It must have been a long day! I must have very little to talk about or report - I've ended up talking about the weather!
In fact there has been quite a lot that's happened today. The problem is that most of the stuff that we do becomes so routined or run of the mill that we can fail to see the miracle in the midst of the mundane. I have a friend who loves the weather. He is easily humoured by hurricanes and fascinated by fine rain! He would make a good meteorologist and knows far more about the weather than I would care to learn! But even something like getting on the inside of the weather reveals so many natural phenomena that usually pass us by and is then taken for granted. In fact it becomes, for us, something to complain about, an object of dissatisfaction. It's too hot, too cold, too dry, too wet! We're never pleased. What miserable people we are! I think we need a change! Oh, look. It's raining outside. Fine drizzle. The worse kind. So wet and damp and dark. How lovely!
Sunday, 14 October 2007
Church of the Past and the Future
I squeezed into the side aisle of the newly opened Church of St Teilo at the Museum of Welsh Life, the walls subtly lit and alive with delicate colours of lined paintings and the beautifully crafted rood screen with intricate carvings and bright reds and greens and golds. The church had been handed over by the Church in Wales to the Museum to be rebuilt stone by stone and renovated as it would have looked in the early fifteenth century. Despite the several altars there was little clutter, unlike many of our old churches that have been 'Victorianised' or gathered up the left overs of previous parishioners! There were no chairs - apart from those ordered by the people who needed them. I was pleased and privileged to be present at the opening of the church and there was a medley of bishops there including the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Archbishop of Wales and the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Cardiff, as well as a few other dignitaries who took a more prominent position, unlike me squeezed against the wall! It's been a long (20 year) journey since the parishioners of Pontardulais handed their church over to the museum - but it was worth it!
In the morning I had been at The Feel Good Factory! No it's not an exclusive gym or a Family Centre with bouncy castle and ball pit but a church in the Cynon Valley converted into a community facility. The church community there handed the building over to a local Community Project. They still have their Sunday and weekday Masses there, except now they celebrate it in a clean, uncluttered, well lit building - a far cry from a few years before when it was dark, damp and in a bad state of repair. I was so pleased for them! It's been a long journey since the parishioners handed their church building over to the Community - but it was worth it!
So today has been a journey through the past and the future. Yet the church of St Teilo's at the Museum can teach us so much about our present and who we are, as the Archbishop of Canterbury reminded us in his speech. The stories of both places are intertwined, part of the rich tapestry of tradition and faith that makes us who we are. Meanwhile, I finished the day off in the pub for a (very) late lunch. It's been a full and varied day - and all worth it!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/south_east/7043147.stm
In the morning I had been at The Feel Good Factory! No it's not an exclusive gym or a Family Centre with bouncy castle and ball pit but a church in the Cynon Valley converted into a community facility. The church community there handed the building over to a local Community Project. They still have their Sunday and weekday Masses there, except now they celebrate it in a clean, uncluttered, well lit building - a far cry from a few years before when it was dark, damp and in a bad state of repair. I was so pleased for them! It's been a long journey since the parishioners handed their church building over to the Community - but it was worth it!
So today has been a journey through the past and the future. Yet the church of St Teilo's at the Museum can teach us so much about our present and who we are, as the Archbishop of Canterbury reminded us in his speech. The stories of both places are intertwined, part of the rich tapestry of tradition and faith that makes us who we are. Meanwhile, I finished the day off in the pub for a (very) late lunch. It's been a full and varied day - and all worth it!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/south_east/7043147.stm
Friday, 12 October 2007
At Home with God
Well! What a disappointment! I've just heard that X Factor have been pulling a fast one! The stage in the series when the Judges take the finalists back to their homes for them to be mentored and further selected are not in fact their own houses at all! They're just rented! Apparently, though, this happens a lot. When you see celebrities reclining on their marble mantelpiece or walking in their garden in Hello or OK or any other celebrity magazine you wish to mention it's not necessarily the place where they live. A spokeswoman for X Factor said: "The contestants are invited to a house. We call them the judges' houses, not the judges' homes. Sharon had only just moved in to her new home and hadn't even unpacked so we couldn't have filmed it there. We have never said they are the judges' real homes and it has been this way for the past four years." Perhaps it takes the shine off it. After all, we are inquisitive creatures who like to peep beyond the net curtains and see how the other half live! That's how the paparazzi earn their wage and editors sell their newspapers - because it feeds the enquiring, inquisitive, invasive mind of most of us!
In the house of which I spoke yesterday - you know, the replica of Mary's house at Walsingham - we don't see the real thing - and nobody says it is! There is, of course, the holy house of Loretto - said to be the actual house of Mary transported by angels (stopping off at Germany along the way!) but Walsingham is a replica from Richeldis, the Lady of the Manor who had the vision to build a house and make a home. Perhaps the whole thing feeds our enquiring, inquisitive and invasive minds - not even Mary can get a rest from it! But, of course, there's more to it than that! There must be!
Beyond the net curtains (or voile or venetian blinds!) of our house is the place where we can be ourselves. Of course, there are many homes when people are not free to be themselves and where they live with fear or intimidation but there will be some small place somewhere where we will know who we are and, hopefully, be free to be ourselves. By visiting a place like Walsingham (or Loretto - though I have never been there!) you enter an intimacy, a small space where you can experience the domesticity of God, that down to earthness, where God invites us to be at home and get our feet under the table! There is always a thrill in visiting the homes of heroes and has beens, those people who have made their mark in the world and left their mark on us - be it writers, musicians, figures of faith or huge historical figures. Somehow you are in touch with them or feel closer to them or sense a small seed of something that gives a new perspective on their life. But in the end, we return to our familiar front door and enter the place where we live and it is there that we kick of our shoes, flick through the fascination of a thousand TV Channels or leave the washing up til the morning (or is that just me?!) It's there that faith is fostered and there that we meet God in the way we live our lives. And if we have been invited to be at home with Mary and Jesus, it's only right that we invite them to do the same!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7040283.stm
In the house of which I spoke yesterday - you know, the replica of Mary's house at Walsingham - we don't see the real thing - and nobody says it is! There is, of course, the holy house of Loretto - said to be the actual house of Mary transported by angels (stopping off at Germany along the way!) but Walsingham is a replica from Richeldis, the Lady of the Manor who had the vision to build a house and make a home. Perhaps the whole thing feeds our enquiring, inquisitive and invasive minds - not even Mary can get a rest from it! But, of course, there's more to it than that! There must be!
Beyond the net curtains (or voile or venetian blinds!) of our house is the place where we can be ourselves. Of course, there are many homes when people are not free to be themselves and where they live with fear or intimidation but there will be some small place somewhere where we will know who we are and, hopefully, be free to be ourselves. By visiting a place like Walsingham (or Loretto - though I have never been there!) you enter an intimacy, a small space where you can experience the domesticity of God, that down to earthness, where God invites us to be at home and get our feet under the table! There is always a thrill in visiting the homes of heroes and has beens, those people who have made their mark in the world and left their mark on us - be it writers, musicians, figures of faith or huge historical figures. Somehow you are in touch with them or feel closer to them or sense a small seed of something that gives a new perspective on their life. But in the end, we return to our familiar front door and enter the place where we live and it is there that we kick of our shoes, flick through the fascination of a thousand TV Channels or leave the washing up til the morning (or is that just me?!) It's there that faith is fostered and there that we meet God in the way we live our lives. And if we have been invited to be at home with Mary and Jesus, it's only right that we invite them to do the same!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7040283.stm
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