Category: Musings

Over the last week, Newcastle has had several inches of snow, and most of the elderly members of my congregation have been nervous about going outside. They have seen the resulting misery brought about by broken bones which heal slowly, and have wisely hibernated.

I have been delighted to see that all of them have state funded carers, cleaners, and shoppers who pop in to see that all is well. Many have also experienced thoughtful care from neighbours, friends and relatives of course. Not one has been alone all week.

That is a strong affirmation of the caring state, who provide contact for the elderly living alone. Budget cuts in Newcastle threaten that model, and in years to come the church (with neighbours, friends and relatives) will need to be more vigilant and active.

And of course those who can’t buy in care will suffer first – the elderly poor will be hit hardest. Newcastle needs to save £20 million, while other parts of the country get a rise in their council budget. But don’t get me started on that…

Last week the government announced the closure of seven small goals around the country, becasue their age and location makes them financially nonviable. A new ‘super prison’ from 2000 male prisoners will be opened in due course. This is tacit acknowledgement that prison doesn’t work.

Small local prisons offer prisoners geographical proximity to family support; time to build appropriate relationships with officers and other staff who challenge their behaviour in a local context; personalised restorative justice programmes; and specific educational and release strategies.

Super prisons are holding pens for human beings, where services are more likely to be generic and less likely to individually challenge the offending behaviour of those incarcerated.

If the government thought that prison worked they would working with prisoners as individuals, to bring about change. But I don’t believe that anyone can see super prisons as anything more than places to remove individuals from society – useful sometimes in the short term, but irrelevant in the long term without intervention. SO frustrating!

Ok – so now Christmas is nearly over (as far as the secular calendar is concerned), I don’t feel like a Grinch publishing something which has been winding me up…

How come, at Christmas, we go all sentimental about readings from non-gender-inclusive versions of the bible? How come the Word came for men?

Now some of you will be asking me if and why it matters anyway. Mostly, I guess, it doesn’t matter much. But once in a while I remember my past, and the abuse I have suffered at the hands of men, and then I know it does matter.

God came as a child, who would grow into an adult, and would do amazing things, and say wonderful things, and bring about a kingdom inclusive of men and women, straight and gay, old and young, black and white, disabled and slightly more abled, all colours, all nations, all of us welcomed into the kingdom.

When our words belie our message, but confirm our story, we are not reflecting Jesus to the world. We say ‘men’ when we (the church) mean everyone, but we (the church) used to mean men. No wonder so many people feel that the church has nothing to say to them and to the world they live in.  ‘He’ matters.

Over the last few weeks a number of ‘celebrities’ have been accused of sexual offenses. The media are telling us that our nation is finally taking sexual abuse seriously. I disagree. We have, as a nation, been taking sexual abuse seriously for very many years.

What we have not been taking seriously is that the dazzling glare of celebrity has blinded us to the fallibility of those who are rich and famous. Specifically because wealth and popularity have previously conferred immutable privilege, behind which evil can hide.

Many of the sex offenders in our prisons are poorly educated and have limited emotional intelligence. It is about time that social disparity was redressed. And celebrity comes to be equated with integrity.

A lot of people are thinking through and working out that they think about the second part of the bishops amendment to the legislation on women bishops. The plethora of blogs have been helpful and illuminating, but most of all they show a growing groundswell of unease about voting for legislation which will bind the C of E into untenable and distasteful gender discrimination for the foreseeable future.

The question boils down to a) vote for the legislation and change the system from the inside, or b) vote against and see who can create the best propaganda about why. If the vote is passed in its current form, there has to be a possibility that parliament will throw it out anyway. In either case, the church looks ridiculous.

We are about to finish West Wing Season 3 (again, having watched West Wing through umpteen times), in which Simon, aka Gibbs, aka the actor Mark Harmon, dies.  I shall probably cry; I usually do.  Mostly because he is so very nice.  It seems that in real life, Harmon is a bit of a hero too.  According to Wiki, Harmon rescued two teenagers from a burning truck outside his house.

Can an actor ‘act’ being nice?  I guess so, though I suspect Harmon is generally not acting.  I like watching him because he seems to be a genuinely pleasant person who like and respects others and himself.  My daughter feels pressure at school because she thinks that there is an expectation on her to be nice.  I’m proud of her for establishing that reputation among her peers and teachers.  And when I’m wearing my dog collar there is an expectation that I’m nice, which I try to live up to.  Is that a bad thing?

I guess it could be, but I see it as vital to doing my job well.  We generally like people who act with integrity – people who like and respect others and themselves.  Nice is a potent mixture of charm, graciousness, integrity, and a love of people.  Jesus had it in bucket loads, and that is really something to emulate.  So let’s hear it for ‘nice’!

 

What would you have done?
As a disciple, a follower and friend of Jesus,
what would you have done?

After Good Friday, after the crucifixion,
after the Roman authorities and the leaders of the church
were so nervous of rebellion and insurrection
that they put a guard on the tomb,
just in case superstitions in which they could not believed
somehow proved to be true.
What would you have done?

Would you have gone into hiding?
Would you have gathered with friends,
tortured with guilt for abandoning Jesus,
for leaving him to his fate,
for allowing others to carry his cross
and wipe away his tears,
for standing powerless and voiceless
at the foot of the cross?
Would you have protested on the streets
in a fever of indignation and anger,
and risked being arrested
and tortured and killed?
What would you have done?

Would you have crept to the tomb
in the half-light of dawn,
because you just could not keep away?
Would you have come with friends
or come alone?
Would you have brought myrrh
to anoint Jesus’ body,
or come empty handed?
And would you have wonder on the way
how to get past the guard,
the stone, and the stink of death?

What would you have done,
when you arrived at the tomb,
your sandals damp from the morning dew,
and stood by the stone,
and looked into the darkness of the empty cave?
And smelt the clean, fresh air of new born day,
and seen an empty night in the shadows of the grave.
And seen the linens lying where they fell,
and hoped, hoped for something unbelievable.
What would you have done?

What would you have done,
when you found the tomb was empty?
The women fled in terror.
For a while they could tell no-one.
What would you have done?

Nobody saw the resurrection happen,
Jesus’ moment of breaking out of his tomb.
And yet we believe,
because each friend tells their story
of breaking into the light of shared resurrection.

Peter and Paul call us
to set aside our fear,
amazement, guilt, confusion,
to step into the transforming power of belief.
Maybe not into certainty,
but certainly into faith.

My teenage son sent me the link for the Kony 2012 campaign this week. For those of you without teenagers, this is a Youtube video of 30 mins highlighting the evil perpetrated by Joseph Kony, leader of the LRA. This video, and the accompanying material produced by ‘Invisible Children’, is top trending on Twitter and went viral this week with millions of viewings.

It is an impressive piece of communication – slick, moving, tells the story, explains what has been done so far, what still needs to be done etc. The so-called youth who have watched it have caught a vision of the change that can be effected by civil protest. Their voice is becoming highly influential in the US becasue it commands such a large following.

But other people are very nervous – the US military advisers now dispatched to help capture Kony for the International Court are working with the Ugandan army, itself implicated in war crimes. By helping, are the US implicated in these human rights abuses, while trying to prevent others?

Of course, there isn’t a right answer. And I am no expert. But it seems to me that doing something is better than doing nothing. And the greater good is served when we work alongside people and demonstrate appropriate military resistance to abuses of power.

Better to try and change the world for better than to do nothing.

http://vimeo.com/invisible/kony2012

I had a salutary experience this week. I get on very well with the wonderful asylum seeker who worships at our church with her two children. I’ve eaten with her, looked after her children, laughed and cried, and waited for the results of her asylum application with her. So when she has something to say, I listen.

A few months ago she threw me when she called me ‘Mother Dana’. I baulked at the title, partly historically because I was taught ‘Call no man father’ (and therefore, no woman mother), and partly because I don’t feel I can live up to the title.

But after the Ash Wednesday service, she told her child to ‘Say thank you to Mother Dana’. Then she turned to me and told me that she had to use my ‘title’ with her children as it showed respect of the authority that the church has given me.

This was a moment of acknowledging my persona even when it seems to conflict with my person. I can’t possibly live up to all the title ‘Mother’ implies. I’m only human. But perhaps I don’t have to.

I think my calling is to be at the interface between God and humanity – as it is for many people, and maybe especially for clergy. So I don’t need to be more than to try and be true to what God is calling me to be. Maybe I will learn to grow into ‘Mother Dana’ after all.

I’m an ENTJ.  I’m a purple Quality Street – I look soft like toffee round the edges, but when you get to know me I’m a pretty hard nut to crack.  I’m an Enneagram Type 1.  I am ‘Mr Spock’ personified.  So it has come as a bit of a surprise to find myself recently overwhelmed with emotion.  A particularity wonderful parishioner was reaching the end of her life, and my prayers were torn between a) wanting her to be spared more pain and b) wanting, very badly wanting, for God to heal her.

I know intellectually that her death this week is a blessing, and she was ready to meet her God, in whom she trusted with considerably more conviction that I could muster at her bedside.  But my heart is bewildered, and reluctant to let her go.  I met her properly on the day before her diagnosis of terminal illness, and have journeyed with her, and her family, through these last weeks.  She has walked closely with God, a woman of faith and courage, honest, gracious and dignified.  I just didn’t want her to die.

It will be a privilege to be part of her funeral, and to continue to journey with her family.  But a part of me will be angry with God that our world is not yet part of the new creation, and that she cannot be made whole NOW.  I believe that the second coming may still be some time off – but can’t it come a bit more quickly…  It’s all very difficult for an emotion-phobe.