A smile for Remembrance Day, 11/11/11

I love the English language. What I want is a word that suggests humour and irony, and there it is: "Wry." Not just any word, this is a three letter word. And as any fule kno, the short words in a language tell you most about its speakers and writers.

So here's a wry offering for Remembrance Sunday, offered to you this Remembrance Day, in the hope that it will give you a smile at around the two minute silence millions upon millions will observe at 11a.m. It was inspired by Louis being asked to make this Sunday a day of young enterprise, making money selling junk at a car boot sale. Louis is a Scout, and he will (alongside  many others from the global scouting movement) be attending a Remembrance Sunday service. I am an "ordained entrepreneur," and I love enterprise, aspiration, wealth creation and the "big society," firmly believing that work is not merely toil, but a celebration of the very nature of the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. So on that day I will lead the Sunday service with an Act of Remembrance at St Thomas's Hall, Cambridge where I am privileged to minister.

We remember the war dead not as tragic figures defined by death alone, but as those who lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved - and, of course, laughed. So I offer you a wry poem, written on the small screen of my Android smartphone, somewhere between London Liverpool Street as I returned from collecting the IET Information Technology Award for the Cambridge Heathcare team.

On a Remembrance Sunday Car Boot Sale

In Flanders fields the poppies grew 

Between the hatching, straight and true 

That marks our pitch - until our eye 

Fell on an Astra parked nearby 

With garden shears of every hue.

We earn some bread. Some time ago 

We saw a boot sale near Heathrow, 

Paid, and got paid. So we branched out 

To Flanders fields.

Take up our offers so unique. 

Roll up, roll up and take a peek 

At all our wares. The value's clear: 

Cheap DVDs and Belgian beer. 

We've proved that it was time to clear 

Those Flanders fields.

Making an Impact

I am packed and compact, as moment melts to moment
For I live in minus-time. I own the countdown,
Know its cause, anticipate its result,
Even exult in the confident uncertainty 
Of acceleration.

Yours is the aim, yours the goal, yours the eye:
What shall I say? That trust is past or promise lost?
By no means. I expect and do not fear
To be flung and tumbled free into such air.
But I do fear the recoil.

Jo Ind's Memories of Bliss / Love God - a response

One of the compulsory courses is "Sexuality and the Pastoral Encounter." One part was to read various things and respond in writing for discussion. I read the above chapter - certainly provocative.

My response may or may not make sense, perhaps it's of rather narrow appeal. If you like it, thanks; if not, put it down to the hour or so I spent downing a capuccino with an extra shot in Heffer's while reading and then writing.

We all believe in some high god these days:
True atheists are odd and hard to find.
But what name shall we choose to name the one
Who sits in bland approval of the world,
Or else, who drums celestial digits and
In whispered words recruits his terror squad?

Can God be "love"? and if so, be this love
Whose drumbeat calls each wallflower to dance?
Is Christ a flirt? And is the blood he shed
A pheromone that wakes our loins to him
So that (we know not why) we lie with him
Upon that hill, beneath that spreading tree?

I'll tell a story of a tragic fall:
Of Eden lost and lovers under curse;
Of Christ who came to mend the broken way:
"Love one another." Yes, we could, in part.
Full freedom needed ways we all could join
The sacred cult of infertility

I'm sorry, Jo. I think you've traded in
A shining mirror for a muddy pond.
God's love is vaster than our minds can grasp;
Unbreakable - and faithful to the last;
All-powerful - yet tender, chaste and true;
Known partly till Christ comes to claim his bride.

Requiescat in pace Mark Autherson

Remembrance Day

The bell rings for remembrance. We obey
Its call: we reach with hands of faith to touch
Lost fingers of the fallen so they may
Receive this next instalment from the much

We owe to those who went ahead, whose blood
Was spent for good, for ill, for its whole worth.
Now frayed and faded images in wood
Are bone-by-bone mute witness under earth.

Mark’s blood betrayed him. His remembrance day
Is poppy-studded, wears its suit ill-pressed,
Finds tears choke words of love we long to say –
Until deep laughter helps recall him best.

Under that plain cross on light-dappled wall
We hear his song: “God is my all and all.”

For Mark Autherson, 1971-2008

Some Consequences of the Doctrine of the Assumption

A century ago it was well-known

That all was well, was well, was very well;

That all that now was hidden would be shown;

That we would, building heaven, banish hell

For Man (and men it was) stood up to night

And reasoned that his reason so would wake

To flood its gloom with new-created light;

To fill the earth with all that he would make.

Entrenching tools turned acres into tombs.

Beware him who forgets what he assumes.

Think, people!

It's the end of the year

It's Indiana dodging boulders,
It's one great weight that's off my shoulders,
It's time to file away those folders;
It's been, it's gone, it's done.

It's one lap run, with one soon starting,
It's seeing such dear friends departing,
It's books in panniers I'm carting;
It's sobering; it's fun.

It's raisin' hands and currents catching,
It's free range exams and how they're hatching,
It's heaven-scent that we're dispatching;
It's basking in the Son.

Voice

I heard it, then - or thought I heard
A voice so faint it held no word,
A sigh so still that breathing "sigh"
Would bruise and bend, would gale away
Its self-note, leaving only my
Own thought and will.

There was a wind that had a voice
That spoke such force to split the rock
And then was gone, as something more
Deep-rooted took its place before
My fearful eyes: a movement of
The earth itself,

Rucked by a groan, ripped by a moan,
Reshaped and raw, all fissures now
That hissed in fire: wild energy.
In might and by main force the three -
Wind, quake and rain - shrieked wordlessly.
But then the voice.

So must I turn my inward ear
To this small silence now drawn near.
This voice that will not force its way
Into my hearing, I invite
To utter now - for now I know
In this is God.

Reasons to be Cheerful - Ridley

With apologies to Ian Dury

Old dogs learn new tricks... More straw for the bricks... Need a caffeine fix
Baked beans in the stews... Telling the Good News... Friday staircase booze
Mission fields to gaze on... Study beds to laze on... Kyrie eleison
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Practising your part... Essays you can't start... Soaking in Karl Barth
Fighting the good fight... Reading N T Wright... Never jump the light
Iron sharpening iron... Friends you can rely on... Peter with his tie on
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Practise all your tact... Tell the myth from fact... Read the righteous act
Chapel's atmospheric... Wannabe a cleric... Being evangelic
Thank the church that picked us... Westcott's never licked us... Sing the Benedictus
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Time spent on your knees... Hot pud, cake or cheese... Split up into threes
All the stuff we're taught... Books unread but bought... Please keep off the Court
Preach and they don't boo ya... PCCs can sack or sue ya... Glory, hallelujah
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Never playing hookey... Be a holy rookie... Have a fairtrade cookie
Time for Mission Tea... Using BCP... We're the C of E!
Talented yet humble... Making Dawkins crumble... Watch out, Nicky Gumble
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Preaching to a fen... Singing in the rain... Mission soup again
Up for morning prayer... Time to read's so rare... Napping in my chair
Clinging to the cross... Counting all but loss... Don't forget who's boss
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Whizz past dreaming spires... Reading all the flyers... Pumping up your tyres
Have an essay crisis... Say hi to the Spices... Surtaxed choccy prices
Supper looks alarming... Always being charming... Antiphonal psalming
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

Porridge in your bowl... Freedom in your soul... God bless Charlie Moule
Working like a Trojan... Here I'll make my sojourn... I'm a theologian
Ministry formation... Good news for the nation... Up the Federation!
Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley Reasons to be cheerful - Ridley

A Prayer for Christian Unity

My heart is pure, my hands are clean
I lift them now to sing his praise
The words I sing I truly mean
Yes! I shall serve him all my days
With face aglow and heart ablaze
In every season of the year
In every caref'lly chosen phrase
In every place where I appear
And tell his grace both far and near
This great salvation, stripes that heal
The Word Made Flesh who casts out fear
And welcomes sinners at his meal
I never knew you. Go away.
You stand and block the narrow way.

Liminality

Well, I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've used that word.

A time of transitions. For Cambridge ordinands, term began last week, and I have now completed two 'Federation Intensives,' namely Race Awareness (excuse the dated sounding name) and Godly Play.

Having worked in the Caribbean, and been had similar corporate training, my expectations for this course that is compulsory for all at some stage were a little mixed. The issue of racism is clearly a live one, but it is all too easy to end up with a less than useful guilt-fest, exposing authentic and imagined guilt.

In fact I both enjoyed and, I believe, benefited from this course, given a light touch but in no way superficially treated by Bev Thomas. What did I learn? Probably the most valuable outcome for me was finding a few new ways into understanding the issues from a more rounded perspective than I have had access to before.

One piece of that was the well-known-to-many-but-not-me "Blue eyes/brown eyes" exercise. If you know it, read on. If not, grab this link: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/divided/etc/view.html

Next came Godly Play, looking at and working with a specific system of religious education - OK, that makes it sound deadly, which it wasn't - and introducing the topic of spiritual development in children. This topic seems to stir up strong feelings one way or another, although because the term sounds rather generic it's hard to know how directly people have experienced what we saw, which was an environment, methods and resources (related to the Montessori tradition), not simply a way of telling stories.

We were led by Rebecca Nye, an academic turned practitioner who first brought Godly Play here, and had a great time, mostly at floor level getting a child's eye view of the process.

I could go on, but I'm more inclined to direct you to the Godly Play UK website, and do a little more reading and reflecting myself. I will say that I was impressed by what I saw, and the approach made sense of some of the joys and the frustrations from my own experience working with younger children in a church context.

(Oh, and frustratingly I used some response time in our complete session to start a poem on journeys, but I think I must have left it behind, bah, I need to go ahead of the admittedly weak - sorry! - 'Turkey.')

This blog also proves that my 'new' laptop seems to work. The old one has a serious problem with its screen, and it turned out that a second hand laptop was more viable than a repair. This one came via eBay, and I confess to a little nervousness, but so far so good...

The normal teaching timetable starts tomorrow, so this is the calm before the storm. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more...

Turkey

Now you've finished up the turkey
And are fully back to worky
Though you're feeling far from perky
And are tempted just to shirky
So online I see you lurky
Yes it's you so lose that smirky
'Cos my crystal ball's not murky
There's your boss - she's gone berserky
And she's looking for the blerky
Who's now busy dodging worky
And to anger that is her key
So it isn't just the turkey
Who'll be heading for the bin

Eat

The fruit was good, and sweet, and ripe
It pleased the eye, the mouth, the hand
As juices flowed that warmed my throat
I ate, and flesh gave way to flesh
As what grew treasure now was food
I tasted, and declared it good

And now I truly know the sweet,
For sweet it was, and ripe, and good,
And sweet the sharing that we had
This first we could call ours alone
So all fruit else at last we know
Is less, is loss, is least, is low

Now all our labour shows itself
Misguided, for our hands have worked
To plant the seed of bitter herbs
To train the branch for sour fruit
And all because we have believed
The one in whom we were deceived

No lie will stand against the truth
No one is just, not even one
All power, seen rightly, is abuse
At last, at last our eyes see clear.
Footsteps betray him that draws nigh:
Our faithless master come to spy

Behind Christ

When I was old I saw that I
Had much I knew and much I'd seen
And wise was I for all that I
Had read, had thought,
Had said, had bought,
Had learnt, had taught,
Had done, had been
And all my creed
Was: I will lead

Now I am young and see that he
Is boundless Adam, man indeed
And great is he for all that he
Has made, has shown,
Has dared, has done,
Has seen, has come,
Has felt, has freed
And I must go
So: Lead me now

It's all Greek to me

Quite a day. Not exactly typical, but thoroughly enjoyable.

First to chapel for morning prayer, after which I forgot to sign up for lunch - again :(

Fortunately I'd brought in some tiffin I made last night, so all was not lost. (And OK, I went home for lunch. But that's later)

Morning prayer mainly follows Common Worship: if you want to see today's service in full including the psalm for the day, readings appointed in the lectionary see this link. Sometimes these services feature music and sometimes not, although there's music in the poetry of the Psalms and the Canticles.

We've been following through a passion narrative: this reminded me of my first attempt in a long time to rediscover my joy in creative writing in 2003, which is gradually becoming part of my life again. It's exciting to me that quite a few people here at Ridley have a real interest in reuniting faith and the arts.

Next off for the first lecture in Church History, which was very enjoyable, making some helpful connections between events in the Roman Empire and in the first days of the Church.

In the afternoon we had a staircase football challenge.

I'll admit to mixed feelings about football. I love to play though, as with singing, I bring rather more gusto than skill.

Unlike singing, said gusto then fades rather rapidly, to be relaced with resigned yet dogged determination to survive.

We at 'H' made achieved a glorious first round exit. (Then a draw.)

Then I had agreed to referee a later match, and somehow found myself playing instead. This old body didn't take so kindly to 20 more minutes of football... Great fun, though.

To quote the original DNA001 (clue! clue!) I felt like a military academy - bits of me kept passing out.

Then home, before we headed off again to see that once every three years Cambridge treat the Greek play - Medea performed in Greek with surtitles.

I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially as our seats were on stage so we had the action 'up close and personal.'

My New Testament Greek is at a pretty early stage, so I was delighted to find that I was picking up words and phrases and felt my ear was tuned in. Anna came too and enjoyed the experience, though a fun-filled-feelgood-family-feast it isn't.

Continuing the Greek theme, we stopped by at the very nice Greek takeaway for falafel and chips. Then chatted over a glass of wine with our very kind neighbour who babysat. And so to bed.

The Poem What I Wrote (when I should have been doing Greek)

IF(with apologies to R.K.)

If you can spring from bed when every neighbour
Thinks Morning Prayer's a crazy thing to do,
If liturgy's a herculean labour,
Yet still you treat the Canticle as new,
If you can don and doff surplice or cassock
Or do without liturgical disguise,
And sit on chair, then stand, then kneel on hassock
With look most beatific in your eyes:
If you can bellow hymn then in your best sot-
-to voce breathe prayer only God may hear;
Raise hands at Ridley, thurible at Westcott,
With tact and grace and always most sincere;
If you can bear to hear both pop and chanting
And follow either path to praise your Lord,
Or hear the preacher wiffling or ranting
And never once betray that you are bored:
If you can mine the gold that's in the scriptures
And never merely bend them to your will,
And turn your hard work into felt-tip pictures
For nine year olds who never can sit still;
If you can study dusty books by Germans
When others to the pub have long adjourned,
And, knowing none of it will help your sermons,
Yet be resolved to keep what you have learned;
If you can talk to drunkards, dons and dustmen,
To students who weren't born when you left school,
And turn to each a patient ear and just, when
You'll come across as one more Holy Fool,
If two hard years of work leave you believing
The word of life's good news for Everyman,
You'll have deserved the honour you're receiving,
And -- which is more -- you'll be an Anglican.

Jeremy P

Reflections - Noughth Week

OK, Cambridge doesn't have a noughth week as Oxford does, but I can't think of a better way to describe it.

So many faces, so many impressions, so many hints and happenings...

Let me offer you just a sketch of life and events here.

First, some basics.

One important focus of Ridley life is the staircase. We live in, study in or are otherwise attached to one - in my case, it's the second of those options, sharing a study with Toby, another married ordinand.

So this morning, for instance, we had morning prayer on the staircase. Christina led, and as this is the day for alternative approaches she chose an Iona-influenced style, simple and reflective.

I wonder whether I'll find more time and space to write while I'm here... In any case, the following brief verse came to me while we were choosing and reflecting on a single word in prayer.

***

Feed

In hope and expectation we arrive.
Our hearts cry out to you our deepest need:
Pour out your love that we may grow and thrive.
In stillness hear the softest voice: "now, feed."

In joyful expectation we are sent
Into the field where you have scattered seed
And some grows strong; and some is bruised and bent.
In stillness hear the softest voice: "now, feed."

***

Some time I'll put something about our first foundation lecture, which also included a time of commissioning. It's quite personal, so you'll have to wait until I've digested more thoroughly.

From today's, though, I heard something from Jeremy (another one - there are several of us here!) that struck me as the starting-point for ministry. I won't have his words exactly right, but anyway, in the context of what it is to receive the grace of God shown in Jesus Christ, he said something like this,

"Sometimes people talk about grace and faith as if it boiled down to presents
we receive or will receive from God. Well, we get bored of gifts.
But we never get bored of someone who loves us."

So, back to the much more mundane, but still important, topic of food. Like most prizes of great worth, this treasure is guarded most fiercely as you can see here.

Everything hinges on getting used to signing up in advance for meals. There is a superficially simple system involving index cards, plastic boxes and paper clips: these can be dealt with on previous days, or at latest by breakfast time. (I have got the hang of breakfast, by the way :) )

Like chess, there are a few basic moves to the game, but the appearance of simplicity is exceptionally misleading. Novices like myself fall prey very easily to the subtleties.

There is grace in the system, though: the end of the queue, behind those successful signer-uppers, is a place of optimism that is generally justified.

Suffice it to say that I now regard the advanced players with great esteem.

Well, that was maybe not a very structured reflection. But then, it is noughth week (to me, at least) and so life feels a little chaotic. By a couple of weeks hence, the regular timetable will have well and truly kicked in, and everything will be relatively neat and tidy I'm sure.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying my time more than I can say. I am so grateful for this opportunity to be trained for full time ordained ministry, and delighted to find myself in the company of such an interesting and varied group of people.

The next few days will be quite busy, as there are events and functions to do with college. I'm rather looking forward to matriculation - my first chance to wear that MA gown, which I'm amazed but delighted to find has survived the ravages of time.

As a slightly older student, it's rather reassuring to see that the rhythm of University life is drawn by the same force. The tides ebb and flow, regular and predictable in an overall sense, yet close-up there is never the same pattern left on the sands by stones that are washed up and exposed, then washed out and disappear from view.

The calm...

Cambridge must now be at its very quietest: definitely the calm before the storm.

There's lots of painting going on everywhere you look. New pubs, bars and restaurants sprout on every street, full of hope that they will prove to be this year's 'in' place.

Even King's Parade is peaceful. That grass looked pretty good yesterday; it will look pretty good tomorrow and more or less all the time except when it's recovering from the BBC Outside Broadcast Unit.

It's pretty much the same cluster of bicycles, just a single tidy row, no need to scramble and search through a heap. The shops are full and neat, hoping for an influx of unaccountably guilty-feeling parents, wanting to cheer their progeny (or themselves) up with an impulse purchase.

And here it's the same. Life is changing in so many ways, starting any day now. I'll get the key to my shared study on Sunday, and then it starts. Two years that will, I suspect, feel like two weeks.

We all know in theory what the change means, but there's the theory and there's the fact. How will the children adapt to the change of routine? How much will I miss the school run (school cycle, that is)? How will we carve out time to be a couple in this new, exciting, alarming phase of our lives? Where will we be this time two years hence?

"Margaret, are you grieving over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things
of man, you with your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! As the heart grows
older it will come to such sights colder by and by, nor spare a sigh though
worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie. Yet you will weep, and know why.
Now, no matter, child, the name: sorrow's springs are the same. Nor mouth
had, no, nor mind, expressed what heart heard of, ghost guessed: it is the
blight man was born for: it is Margaret you mourn for." GMH

There's a little mourning to do for what's past; there's an 'unleaving' we have chosen. But we believe that we are following one who will not fail us. If sorrow's springs are the same, the springs of hope and joy lead also to one single source. It is in order to climb in pursuit of that source that we have set out, both to be refreshed ourselves and to bring its crystal water to others.