Monthly Archives: February 2010

In which I discover a lot more about the ebb and flow of life…

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Well friends. What a day.

It is now 12.40 am- and I am downstairs after a wee snooze, but with a mind too busy to sleep any more. So- I turn to this weblog, my old friend for getting stuff out of my head, and into- who knows where.

Some of you will know that I made the news this afternoon– I am fine now- just very sore and feeling foolish/thankful/tearful and very very loved. I am very aware of all the stick I am going to get over the next few weeks, but I am also carried by the wishes and prayers of friends and family.

What happened?

Well I went for a canoe trip this afternoon. It was calm and not too cold, and I have been hankering to be out on the water for a few days. Today I went on my own, as no-one else was daft enough to come with me. Our 16 foot open canoe is too big really for one person, but I have paddled it for years, and have never been in any major trouble before.

So I paddled along the shore past Dunoon, and out towards the Gantock rocks, just off Dunoon pier. There are usually a few seals there, and I planned a quick look, then either back up the coast, or if the tide was too tough, then in to the shore, and a walk home to return with the car for the canoe.

But off the Gantocks, the tide tipped me over.

How it happened, I am not fully sure- I turned slightly across the flow, and because my canoe was not well balanced (having only me in) it was enough to flip me, and I was in the water, and in trouble.

I was able to function quite well. I tried flipping the canoe, and bailing, but failed. I tried riding th upturned canoe towards the shore, but the tide would have made this impossible. Iconsidered swimming to the Gantocks, but the way the tide was swirling, I am not sure I would have made it. I took the decision to leave the canoe, and swim. I am still not sure this was the right thing to do.

But I set off, swimming to shore. The challenge of this can be understood from looking at this map. The Gantocks are about 400M from the pier and breakwater, but as the tide was sending me down stream, I was then level with the west bay, which put land around a kilometre away.  .

I set out, aware that cold was my enemy, needing to keep going, but getting weaker- very reliant on my buoyancy aid. I occassionaly shouted to try to let people know where I was- but was not sure that anyone had seen me. I think I was in the water between 30 mins and an hour.

I almost made shore. I was perhaps 100-200 M away- still moving, but very tired- when suddenly I was hit by the down wash from a Sea King helicopter.  That was scary. It was like trying to swim in a tornado. I turned and saw the police launch, and assumed that they would drag me in, and I would be shipped to Dunoon cold and shame faced. But the next thing was that I saw a winch man in the water next to me, strapping me into a hoist, and felt myself being lifted up in to the chopper.

They pulled me in- and I could not move. I was hyperventilating, more from the shock of finding myself the centre of so much attention. But I realised too just how tired I was, and how incredibly cold.

They told me, despite my protests, that they were taking me to hospital in Glasgow. I was just desperate to let Michaela know I was OK, but they said that was a job for later.

So I arrived at the big hospital in Glasgow, and found myself shivering uncontrollably. My core temperature had dropped to 32 degrees- which would be classed as mild hypothermia. Considering the length of time I was in the water, in February, this is remarkable.

They stripped me and struggled to find veins to pump in warm saline, and covered me in a perforated plastic sheet through which they pumped warm air. The aim was to raise my temperature by one degree an hour. I shivered like a man suffering shell shock, but it worked.

And eventually I got in touch with Michaela, and when they had flushed enough of the lactic acid out of my system, she came to fetch me, with our friend Maggy, leaving the kids with other friends Andy and Angela.

It is so good to be home.

I now need to sleep. But I have been re-reading my earlier post. It is full of irony I think!

What kept me safe? Sure, I have a good layer of insulation- and I did not panic, but did what needed to be done to get my self out of trouble. And some kind soul saw me, and phoned 999.

Michaela told me that she had a flash back to early this morning, before the kids went to school. As they crowded into the bed to wish me happy birthday, she had a sudden feeling that something bad was going to happen to me. She prayed.

Now I know- this sounds a bit fanciful. Why would God save me, but not the young boy who died falling through a snow cornice in the Cairgorm mountains today? is this just spiritualising after the event?

I do not know, all I know is that I am grateful.

And in the ebbing of tide, I felt for a while the ebbing of life. And I am grateful that now it still flows strong in me.

And wondering- what next Lord? What next? Because I am on his time. I always was.

Happy birthday to me!

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So- today I am 43. Thanks so much to those who have sent wishes/cards/presents! I am a man blessed.

I share a birthday with some of my friends- Nick, Stacey and Stewart. And aparently Kim Jong-il, North Korean dictator. So best wishes to them all. I am not expecting a card from Kim.

And for those of a certain age-

(I was reading recently that tests have shown that kids who grew up watching Sesame Street out perform kids that did not in key indicators. I did not watch it as a child unfortunately- my mum thought that TV sent brains soft.)

Michaela and the kids bought me a days sea kayaking tuition! Which to some might mean they are trying to get rid of me- but I know better. It is something I have wanted to do for years. Can’t wait!

What will this year bring?

My friend Maggy gave me a book of Celtic daily prayer– and I read this-

We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide, and resist the terror of it’s ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanence, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity- in freedom, in the sense that dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern. The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what it was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh.

Lord Help me now to unclutter my life

To organise myself in the direction of simplicity

Lord teach me to listen to my heart; teach me to welcome change rather than fearing it

Lord I give you these stirrings inside of me

I give you my discontent

I give you my restlessness

I give you my doubt

I give you my despair

I give to you all the longings I hold inside

Help me to listen for those signs of change, of growth; to listen seriously and follow where they lead

Through the breathtaking empty space of the open door…

Amen, amen.

Mission gone wrong?

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Are any of you following this story?

Basically, it seems that a group of American Southern Baptists, led by a charismatic failed businesswoman Laura Silsby, travelled into Haiti, gathered together as many people from a shattered town as they possibly could, and showed pictures of a lovely hotel complex over the border in the Dominican Republic, making promises of how they wished to take any children that wanted to come along for a better life.

And understandably, families looked around at the ruins their kids were sitting in, and handed over their young ones- from as little as a few months old, up to 12 years old.

Except some, including other charities- most notably SOS Childrens Villages International were outraged. They pointed out that this looked like child trafficking- but was at very least a totally inappropriate removal of children from home, culture and extended family at a point of terrible vulnerability. No checks were done as to whether families could be supported to look after the kids long term. No proper background checks were possible. It amounted to cultural imperialism of staggering insensitivity.

The Guardian yesterday carried a long article digging into some of the background to what has become a bit of a media feeding frenzy. Now the Guardian is not noted for its sympathy for right wing evangelicalism, but I think made some sobering points about the place of religion, and oversees mission in this matter. Here are a few quotes-

Further clues as to the mindset and intentions of the Baptists are provided by a written plan of action they prepared at the outset of the trip, which they called an “Haitian orphan rescue mission”. The plan discloses their ultimate aim: to “gather” up to 100 orphans from the streets and collapsed orphanages and take them to a new life in the Dominican Republic.

The document is striking in that it displays profound ignorance of the geography and society of Haiti. It anticipates driving the round trip from Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic to Port-au-Prince, collecting the children and bringing them back, in just two days – a wildly overambitious schedule given the destroyed infrastructure of Haiti. It talks of rescuing orphans “abandoned in the streets”, which was fanciful as very few children who lost parents would have been abandoned; most Haitians live in extended families with relatives ready to step into the childcare role.

Such behaviour raises questions about Silsby’s motives and objectives. But for the remaining nine ignorance and naivety appear to go some way to explain how they got in the mess they now find themselves in. Certainly, that would fit a changing pattern of behaviour within the Southern Baptist Convention, the largest Protestant denomination in the US to which Central Valley Baptist church belongs. Over the past 20 years there has been a dramatic shift away from “career missionaries” who spend years immersed in the culture and language of the people they seek to turn to God, in favour of “missionary tourists” who dip in and out of communities for mere days or weeks and have much less cultural sensitivity.

According to David Key, director of Baptist Studies at Emory University’s Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, that sea change has come at a time when the convention has been increasingly focused on domestic social and political issues as part of the Christian right, which has led it to sound a strong note of American superiority. “Anyone under 40 years of age will have spent their entire life in the America First model of evangelism,” says Key.

The business of ‘short term mission’ has fascinated me. I spent some time in America as the guest of some really wonderful people- Southern Baptists in fact- who I met when they came to Scotland as part of a mission trip. They subsequently invited me to go over to lead some worship and run some workshops. It was a roller coaster of a trip- full of highs and lows- you would say it gave me a taste of ‘short term mission’- only in this case, in reverse.

‘Short term mission’ is big business in the Bible Belt. There are travel agencies that exist just to set these up, and Americans pay thousands of dollars to go on trips across the world- taking choirs, paint pots, projectors- all for an inclusive price. Check out this site for example.

Does that make this kind of mission bad? My experience of the folk who came over to Scotland was a very good one. Lovely folk on an adventure, trying to serve God on an adventure holiday.

But at the same time, the ethos of these mission trips have always made me feel very uncomfortable. They are a way of fitting mission into a lifestyle. They organise a kind of package tour evangelism, that costs nothing that can not be afforded. The long term value of such trips seem to offer far more to the missioners than to any of the places to which they are ‘sent’.

Back to the kids in Haiti.

The people who took the kids are clearly convinced that they were doing the work of God. They were able to believe this, it seems to me, because the worldview that they plugged God into gave them a set of goggles that filtered out all other viewpoints.

There are lessons here for us all/

Wilderness retreat weekend- update…

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Just an update on our planned Aoradh Wilderness Retreat– which will be from May the 1st- 3rd.

I am just trying to nail the venue for this weekend, and thinking about different venues. I think there are about 9 people confirmed, with another 5 or so possibles- this time it looks like there will be possibly 2-3 women coming too- brave souls that they are!

Terry may join us for the sea voyage out (or return) too.

Nick and I are keen to continue to use some of the ‘wilderness meditations‘ on the weekend- although Nick himself may not be there.

The prefered option was Lunga, Treshnish. However, I think this might be turning out to be potentially too complicated. The route to get there involves two ferries- one to Mull, then a bus, then the small boat out to Lunga. It is a lovely journey, but will take most of a day each way. Also- the ferry operator has been rather unhelpful, and appears to want to charge us more than his regular day trips. He did not reply to my questioning of this! There are other boat operators, but I think costs will climb, and we will also need to factor in the trip onto Mull, and driving over to where the boats operate from.

Which is a long way of saying that I think we need to simplify, and head out to either the other Lunga, or to the wild west coast of Jura.

On closer examination of the maps, I think Jura offers the most. It is not as romantic perhaps- but it offers beaches and caves to shelter in if we get bad weather in the evenings.There are a couple of lovely bays that we can base ourselves at- with brilliant walking/exploring/scrambling/wildlife watching/sitting contemplating opportunities- according to your choice!

So- here is the question. To those who are coming- can you let me know if I should go ahead and confirm the boat from Ardfern to take us out to the other side of Jura? This will mean a wonderful trip through the Gulf of Correvreckan, past the famous whirlpool.

Cost of this trip will be about £250 in total- shared between however many of us go.

Yesterday there was spring in the air… not long now!

Look upon my works you mighty and weep…

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For I have walked the wild country

And watched the sun slipping slowly down

Turning green to gold

working alchemy before my very eyes

I have seen the mountains

Lifting up their faces to the sky

Gathering in the starlight

So beautiful it makes me want to cry

And I can hear a voice- its calling me

Can you hear the voice?

It says;

Look upon my works you mighty and weep

(CG 2001)

The myth of immortality..

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I have been very much enjoying the series on Radio 4 called “A history of the world in 100 objects”

Today’s object was the statue of Rameses II, made around 1200 BC, broken up by an ex-circus performer-cum antiquities dealer, and sold to the British Museum.

It caused a sensation- inspiring poetry and art- including most famously, Percy Shelley who wrote this famous sonnet after visiting the museum in 1818

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away

Rameses II was perhaps the greatest of all the Pharoes of the new Egyptian Kingdom. He ruled for 67 years, and determined to outshine all other pharaohs, called himself ‘ruler of rulers’ and had more monuments and statues created than any other Pharaoh. He ruled the most powerful nation in his world, but still, his concern was on casting his memory for ever in stone.

Shelley’s poem catches the futility of this ambition so beautifully. And so this statue can be seen as a symbol of the fragility of all human achievement.  They remind us that all civilisations, not matter how great- will fall. And no matter how meglomaniacal our leaders become- they too are made of clay. After Rameses II- it was downhill all the way for the Egyptian empire. Each successive Pharaoh was weaker, and had to make more compromises with the surrounding powers. Corruption and decay set in.

I began to think of this desire we all have to be immortal. As a young Christian, I was taught that this was the great selling point to offer as a carrot for potential converts. The promise of eternal life.

I have come to believe that this all consuming pre-occupation with living for ever prevents us connecting with the stuff of here and now. We forget that, as Brian McLaren would say, Christianity is not an ‘escape plan’, but rather an invitation to participate fully in the here and now.

Perhaps we also are affected with the same impulses that drove Rameses II- it can all become about ME. Placing ourselves at the centre of our universe. Including at the centre of our religion.

God exists in order to make me (and others that are like me, and believe in the stuff I believe in) immortal.

Hmmmm…

Let the wound stay open…

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I read this poem many years ago- and its words have always stuck in my mind.

As ever with poetry, it makes a few words speak louder than a thousand.

When the heart
Is cut or cracked or broken
Do not clutch it
Let the wound lie open

Let the wind
From the good old sea blow in
To bathe the wound with salt
And let it sting.

Let a stray dog lick it
Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
A simple song like a tiny bell
And let it ring.

From The Prayer Tree
by Michael Leunig

You can see lots of his cartoons here.

I liked this one…

…and this one!

Conflict…

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I hate conflict.

In my early years, I avoided it at all costs.

Too many memories of things I would rather forget from childhood. Too little (or too much) confidence in my own rightness. Too many people who saw me as a soft target for their own ego-boosting arrows. Too easily the loss of all power of speech when under pressure from stronger folk.

And then there is the wonderful Jesus stuff. The turning of the other cheek, despite the humiliation that this might involve. The call to seek peace, rather than to celebrate petty victories.

But as I have become older, conflict has been harder to avoid. In my work it is guaranteed – I have to make decisions that might directly contradict the expressed wishes of people, and then justify them- even in court. I manage staff, and sometimes need to tackle difficult issues with them. Sometimes people complain- either because I have got it wrong, or because it was never possible to ‘get it right’- because of unreasonable behaviour on the part of others.

But in all these things, I have a professional distance to hide behind. Mostly the real me is safe behind role and title. That is not to say it is not difficult, but I have found ways to deal with it- sometimes even very well.

But the personal stuff- this is harder.

Living in a small town, conflicts with others tend to be hard to escape. Once a relationship is broken, or bad words have been spoken- you tend to relive the situations in the supermarket queue. And there is so much of this here – sometimes it seems as if the whole place is stratified and splintered by years of conflict- enemies made and allegiances enlisted in the coming cold war.

And even though I try so hard to avoid adding to the toxic subsoil – there are areas of pollution that now are mine.

Then there is the conflict that occurs in small groups- the sort that emerges almost like a badge of true community. The inevitable consequence of being close enough to one another to rub away at the veneer we all like to display to the outside world.

It is possible to avoid conflict of this kind in only one way – by avoiding community. By keeping all relationships at arms length – or further. I know many people who live like this. Either because (like me) life has damaged them, and the scars are too sensitive for harsh daylight, or perhaps because life has become stuffed full of other smaller achievements and tasks.

The sort of conflict that is mostly unacknowledged and undisclosed but at the same time nurtured and fed, until it erupts into our gathering like an arc from an opened artery.

What I have learned- or I should say what I am learning– is that this kind of conflict can be holy.

It can be surgical. Like the breaking of bent bones in order to allow them to be set a little straighter.

Like all such procedures- the pain can lie you out all flat and immobile. But should you do what I always want to do- to drag myself off into a dark corner to pick over the scabs- then the chances are that infections will set in. And the bones will twist and curl again.

Broken bones, once set, are stronger.

Or at least, I hope so.

Of course, there remain some healing embrocations that are required. Those wonderful medicinal disciplines that grow on us like fruit propagated by the Spirit-

Love

Joy

Peace

Patience

Kindness

Goodness

Faithfulness

Self control…

If these things are not tangible, visible and visceral- then we will all need crutches.

And you will all have a limp- like mine.

Wilderness- ‘My side of the mountain’

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I have just finished reading a book to my son William at bed time. It was a book that I had read at primary school. In fact I think I never took the book back to the school library, so it is still the property of Croft Primary School, Nottinghamshire County Council. I must turn myself in to the police…

But the book had a profound effect on me.

It told the story of a boy who ran away from home in New York, and made a life for himself in the Catskill mountains. He lived off the land, and hollowed out a tree to make a house.

I think it had such an effect on me as some aspects of my childhood were very difficult, and I spent hours in my own dream world, longing for some kind of magical escape.

But it also filled me up with a longing for wild places.

I now realise this this book (which I have never heard anyone else mention) is a famous work of children’s fiction, and was made into a film. Indeed it is part of a trilogy, and so I plan to read the rest of the series with Will.

I found some bits of the film (made in 1969, when I was 2 years old)- and was amazed how much it still stirred me. Some liberties appear to have been taken with the book though- don’t they know that they are messing with my memories?!

Wilderness- Dick Proenneke…

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I am thinking a lot about wilderness again- because of my weekend in the mountains, but also as Nick and I are getting further into our next writing project- trying to gather together a collection of things we are calling ‘wilderness meditations’.

The place of wilderness in this world seems more important to me than ever. As we continue to move into a post modern world where the rise of scientific rationalism has been put to the sword, the longing for simpler, more sustainable way of living is ever more on us. Getting ourselves loose from the noose of debt and wage earning in order to maintain the debt payments- this is a dream for many.

And a reality to few.

I came across this man recently, building his beautiful hut in the Alaskan wilderness.

And the envy was on me.

To live in a pristine land unchanged by man…
to roam a wilderness through which few other humans have passed…
to choose an idyllic site, cut trees and build a log cabin…
to be a self-sufficient craftsman, making what is needed from materials available…
to be not at odds with the world, but content with one’s own thoughts and company…
Thousands have had such dreams, but Dick Proenneke lived them. He found a place, built a cabin, and stayed to become part of the country. This video “Alone in the Wilderness” is a simple account of the day-to-day explorations and activities he carried out alone, and the constant chain of nature’s events that kept him company.