Monthly Archives: March 2010

Big fish little fish…

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There has been trauma in our house.

William has a fish tank, in which have lived two goldfish for the last four or five years. He has long had a desire to get more fish, and in particular, some mountain minnows to share the tank with the goldfish. We could never find anyone who sold them though.

However, at the weekend, we discovered that out local pet shop had them in stock- probably in no small part due to his regular request. So we bought 4 of the little things, and carried them carefully home and plopped them into their new home.

William gave them each a name.

But later that day, there were only 3 left in the tank. We held our breath, but Will was quite philosophical; ” Ah well, we can’t let these things upset us too much…” he then he stood stiffly before the tank and said ” But Qwerty- know this, you will always be remembered…”

And indeed he would have been. But then there were two.

And then one.

Then none.

And two rather bulging goldfish (whose names by the way are Jaws and Mako.)

Bless him, Will was very upset for a couple of days. We reasoned that this was one of those learning experiences that we all go through in which we encounter some of the hard realities of life. Despite the insulation we would parents seek to provide for all our beautiful kids as they grow into this cruel world.

A life where small fish are always prey to the bigger ones. And they in turn are on the menu of even bigger ones, and it all might just end badly…

All the way up to the top of the food chain- and then up the socio-economic ladder for our own human cannibalistic big fish.

Except this is not a lesson I want William to have to learn. I still hope for a world where small fish swim free, and Nemo finds his way back to his father. A world where small is beautiful and survival is not just for the fittest.

Alas this was not to be the fate of Qwerty and his brethren…

Dried up…

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I am very tired.

Two early mornings- two late nights. Work like a pressure cooker.

The wheels have stopped turning.

So here are a couple of verses by way of prayer- perhaps you need them too…

My strength has dried up like a broken clay pot… Psalm 22

As the deer pants for streams of water so my soul longs for you, my Living God… Psalm 42

If anyone is thirsty- let him come to me… John 7


The cricket season begins! (Or at least it did here…)

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Will and I have a long running rivalry in the form of one on one cricket challenge. In the winter this takes the form of a game in our hallway, with resultant danger for ornaments, décor and the odd passer by on their way from living room to kitchen.

But today the weather was wonderful, and the light was still playable (at least for us, but perhaps not for those wimpy professionals) until almost 6.30pm. It was 11 degrees centigrade here today, with bright sunshine and a whiff of spring in the air.

(The photo above was taken in France though- it is not quite shorts weather yet.)

Today we tried out our new ‘nets’- the first bowl on the (experimental but soon to be adopted by grounds everywhere) block paved driveway.

The rules are like this- I have to get him out (caught or bowled) three times, but he only has to get me once. We use an assortment of balls- basically anything that has not already disappeared into the far distance.

Some of you will doubt our sanity- because for you, the joys of cricket have been obscured by prejudice.

But for me, this simple pleasure is full of pure joy- for these reasons…

The coming spring after a long cold winter.

Being with my boy.

The whiff of competition (particularly as I can still hold my own against a 9 year old!)

And the shape given to body and mind by that most noble of pass times- cricket.

The sound of bat on ball and the glory of a ball sailing high in the direction of the Clyde.

The occasional perfection of the perfect leg break as it turns through the gate and smashes into the stumps.

And they dare to call this a waste of time? I intend to play for eternity when I get to heaven…

Poverty and debt in the UK…

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I have just been reading some research by the Institute for Public Policy Research (IPPR) on UK poverty.

Poverty? In the UK? This from an article in the Church Times- here

What does it mean to be poor in the UK today? For many of us, the Victorian notion of poverty may still persist in our minds: ragged, barefoot chil dren, malnourished, overworked par ents, and slum housing. Yet in 21st-century Britain it is possible to be in poverty and own a mobile phone.

Poverty is a relative concept, explains Chris Goulden of the Joseph Rowntree Foundation. Where once it was measured on the basic principle of the “basket of goods”, the official poverty line is now set at 60 per cent of the national median income (currently £377 a week), i.e. £226.

For children who are classed as disadvantaged, it is as much about their participation in society as about their diet and clothes. While it may be possible to buy cheap tech nology such as mobile phones, these children may still not be able to af ford to go on the school trips, which can be relatively expensive, Mr Goulden says.

The number of people officially in poverty is increasing in the UK; and they are most likely to be children, pensioners, the disabled, or single-parent families. While New Labour made inroads into cutting poverty when it first came to office, this has now gone into reverse. According to the latest figures, after housing costs are taken into account, there are 13.2 million people in poverty today — about one in five of the population.

Of these, two to three million are thought to be in extreme poverty, living on just 40 per cent of the average income.

We live in a time when our obsession with ownership- of houses, of shiny electronic devices, of constructed and packaged experience- is at an all time high. This addiction to consumption has received some closer examination in the wake of recent economic upheavals, but the trend remains.

The IPRR research followed 58 low-income families in London, Newcastle, Nottingham and Glasgow aimed to understand what the expansion of household debt has meant for them. The research found that many low income families have become increasingly vulnerable and exposed because of debt, which has increased substantially in the last decade- from 93 to 161 per cent of disposable income over the last decade.

The study found that the main reason that families got into trouble was because of a reduction in income- the loss of a job to one of the working members, or the reduction of a benefit. The effects of this were often catastrophic.

Poverty, once some basic human needs are satisfied, is always relative.

Our sense of security, of personal value and of mental wellbeing is fuelled by lots of things, but in this world of shiny consumption, it is certainly influenced by our ability to make the same consumer choices that those around us are making.

It is very hard to resist the truth of this. Particularly for those whose finances are marginal. Choices that we make to stand aside from the consumer madness- to make decisions to live a simpler life- these may feel like middle class indulgences to many people when faced with kids who are fed a relentless stream of advertisements for gaming consoles, mobile telephones and expensive clothing.

This kind of poverty is no less brutalising.

Poverty is still the main predictor of lower life expectancy, poor educational outcomes, health problems, mental illness, family dysfunction, poor housing etc etc.

What is the answer?

I suspect that this relates to the need for much wider societal change- the need to find a different way of experiencing human society that breaks with the economic enslavement that our capitalistic system demands of us. To find meaning and relationships in other things.

Is this possible?

I think that it ought to be possible for the people of Jesus, if for any of us- despite our tendency to forget our call to be in this world, but not of it.

And I still hope that there will be enough of us prepared to live extraordinary lives, so that the huge loaf that is society will have a different leaven.

Or to put it a different way, we would learn to live up to the business of being salt to bring out the flavour in our communities, or light to illuminate the beautiful and small.

But- for me, there is the seduction of middle class security, and the accumulation of more stuff. It may yet be the end of us- and what a sad way to go…

Pacifism in an age of terror and torture…

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We live in an age of fear.

It often seems that this fear is fostered deliberately, as justification for actions which governments take on our behalf.

The newspapers are full of stories of so-called terrorists tortured by American soldiers, and the alleged complicity of British security forces.

Where are the voices raised by Christians in the US against the barbaric way that prisoners are being treated in the name of the worlds only superpower?

Well- here are some of them- courageous, powerful and moving. This film is not easy to watch- but it seems ever more important…

Jim Crow and the ‘Coon songs’…

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I listened to a discussion on Thinking Allowed on radio 4 today about the role of comedy in racism, and anti-racism. It reminded me again of something close to home.

I have written previously about this rock, known as ‘Jim Crow’ which is across the road from where I live-

 

Photo by Scott Adams- http://www.flickr.com/photos/10021898@N02/797575782/in/photostream

The history of the rock is the subject of much debate- some of my friends who are local to Dunoon feel protective of it as a local landmark- it has been decorated in this way for well over 100 years, and is one of those local features that people remember, and celebrate, from childhood.

It has been suggested that the rock was so named after a garage owned by Jim Crow in the vicinity, although I know someone who has done some research in the public records and can find no sign of such a business, or of a person with that name.

In my earlier post, I pointed out the link with a tradition that emerged in another place- the ‘Minstrel shows’ of 19th Century America, in which ‘Jim Crow’ was a negative caricature of  a black man. The words ‘Jim Crow’ became an insult that was used alongside other offensive words like ‘Nigger’ and ‘Coon’. It also became a catch-all phrase for a set of segregation laws adopted by states across the USA that were oppressive and amounted to state sponsored rascism- the Jim Crow Laws.

The question remains however as to why a rock came to be decorated in this way in a sleepy little seaside town on the West Coast of Scotland?

I think the answer lies in the incredible popularity of the minstrel shows, and the wave of songs and dances that captured popular imagination at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th Centuries. Quite why this form of entertainment became so popular is difficult for us to understand from a post modern perspective. It was carried along by a new beat and verve brought by ragtime music and cakewalk rhythms but perhaps also by a rather more sinister human characteristic- the need to look down upon, or even demonise the other.

‘Coon songs‘ sung either by black performers, or more often, white men with black painted faces, were incredibly popular. Some of these songs sold millions of copies of sheet music all over the world.

The Coon songs were performed in popular shows wherever entertainment was required- particularly in mass holiday destinations- like 19th Century Dunoon, at the height of the age of steamers on the Clyde. According to an entry on Wikipedia, this is what they were all about-

Coon songs’ defining characteristic, however, was their caricature of African Americans. In keeping with the older minstrel image of blacks, coon songs often featured “watermelon- and chicken-loving rural buffoon[s].”[14] However, “blacks began to appear as not only ignorant and indolent, but also devoid of honesty or personal honor, given to drunkenness and gambling, utterly without ambition, sensuous, libidinous, even lascivious.”[14] Blacks were portrayed as making money through gambling, theft, and hustling, rather than working to earn a living,[14] as in the Nathan Bivins song “Gimme Ma Money”:

Last night I did go to a big Crap game,
How dem coons did gamble wuz a sin and a shame…
I’m gambling for my Sadie,
Cause she’s my lady,
I’m a hustling coon, … dat’s just what I am.[15]

Towards the end of the era of Coon songs, it seems that people began to object to the racism at the heart of the formulae. There is also some evidence that black performers began to subvert the songs by turning some of the humour back at the white listeners. Laurie Taylor, as part of the discussion on the radio today placed these songs in a longer line of black comedy, including Richard Pryor and Chris Rock, who use humour to confront their audience with the narrow stereotypes they might otherwise regard as acceptable. However, there also appears to be a danger in this form of activism, as in some ways it gives permission to air these views.

There was also an interesting point about how certain popular performers can be seen  ‘exceptions’ to a more wider prejudicial view. In this way, they confirm the stereotype as much as they confront it.

Richard Pryor stopped making jokes using the word ‘Nigger’- here he is (WARNING– as ever, his language is a bit fruity.)

Back to the rock.

I had previously suggested that I would like to see it redecorated.

I certainly would still like to see more local knowledge of the tradition that this rock comes from, as I think we always need to learn the lessons of history, lest we repeat the mistakes again.

Lest we find a new section of the population to demonise.

The bearing of burdens…

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Our housegroup met tonight- as we do every Tuesday.  A smaller group than usual, just 7 of us. We have been reading through the Gospel of Mark and talking and debating the meaning of these wonderful stories. Encountering again the words of Jesus, recorded by someone who was right there to hear them spoken…

I needed to be there tonight more than usual. I was tired and weary, with a familiar weight on my soul that I feel like a band around my chest. Nothing dramatic- nothing unexpected, just the old black dog reasserting himself and shadowing me again for a while. A window given by a combination of circumstance and vulnerabilities that never quite go away.

Before we began to read, we spent some time in a simple meditation. We sat around a table on which were stones and rocks brought in from the garden, a small cross and a jug of water and glasses to drink from.  Audrey read these familliar words from Matthew 11-

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

We were then invited to take a stone and consider the burdens we were carrying. And to deliberately lay them down at the foot of the cross.

Next, it was suggested that we drink in water, as a sign of God’s promise to bring life and refreshment- to fill us with living water.

But I rebelled a little. I did not want to lay down my stone. The more I looked at it, the more fascinated I was by the shape in it- which was entirely natural- cracks revealed as the stone was eroded by the action of waves on the beach we picked it up on.

What was I looking at?

Initially it looked as though I was looking at a man- and I wondered if this somehow symbolised a person.

But then I realised that the markings on the rock actually looked like a man with his arms and legs wrapped around a huge burden- and that in fact, they were carrying this burden.

Almost like they had taken on the weight of others…

It seemed to me that there was a message here of promise- or perhaps a reminder of a promise. My burden is being carried- not by me, although I easily labour under the weight of it. Rather the burden is being borne by someone else. Leaving me with the possibility of lightness and freedom. Because he is gentle and humble in heart…

This life of faith is wrapped up in mystery and doubt, or at least it is for me. But today I hold in my hand a solid sermon in stone.

And for those of us who look for doubt- we will find it.

But we should also consider this. At some point, we picked up a few stones on a beach, and left them in our garden amongst a rockery. There are thousands of stones there. Michaela gathered a few, and as part of a meditation, at a time of need, I picked up this very one…

Chance?

Serendipity?

Or- a God who seeks after us, despite everything?

A weekend with old friends…

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We have just had a lovely weekend with our friends Andy and Clare, along with their kids Sam and Hannah.  The sun shone, and it was great to spend time with them all, and for them to meet some of our friends up here too.

We have known them for a long time- I reckon I have known Andy half of my life, and Clare not much less. We have been around each other through lots of changes and challenges. We attended the same church in England, and Andy and I played music and led worship. We also spent a lot of time in the mountains together.

Life sends you in different directions. We moved to Scotland, but Andy has taken the radical step of stepping outside the rat race (he was an IT consultant/project manager) and working for a Christian charity called Fusion.

In fact, if you are interested in how church might better connect with the community that surrounds its crumbling walls- then I recommend you check out some of the things that they are doing. In fact, Andy would love to hear from you if you want to know more- he has responsibility for developing contacts in the North of the UK- and Scotland.

Some photos (note that Clare managed to avoid the lens- she is good at that)-

Lent, and ’40’…

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I recieved this lovely e-mail the other day-

Dear Chris,

This is the second year I have used 40 through Lent and I am loving it again but in a completley new way.

Isn’t it amazing how God can speak to you differently even when the words are familiar?



I bought my copy at Lee Abbey a year after I had first seen it; it had called to me right from the start!
It is so lovely to hear that things that you have written are meaningful to others. It is almost like hearing people praising your child.

You can still get hold of ’40’ from Proost.
It is not too late to make your own Lenten journey…



Find me O my father

Make me.

Take me back to you

My throat is cracked

But thirst is more

For you

My stomach craves

A food that feeds only this;

My soul.

So I walk

Desperate

Close to falling

Stumbling

To you

More stuff in our local paper…

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You may well already know, dear readers, of my recent rather dramatic act of self publicism.

Following this, there was also the rather unfortunate letter published in our local paper, which categorised me as an ‘idiot’.

Today, the letters page of the good old Dunoon Observer is mostly about our family. There were three responses to the letter mentioned above- from 2 of my friends (no money exchanged hands) and also from someone I did not know. The letters bring compassion, common sense, and an understanding of the risks involved in all of life.

Even though I had taken a decision not to reply myself, and had wondered about the point of such a discourse, in the end, I am grateful that the other side of the issue has been expressed so well. Thanks guys!

Also in the paper this week I was very surprised to see a letter from my mother in law Mary!

It was a letter thanking people for their support during Robert’s (my step father in law) illness. Robert has spent weeks in hospital undergoing the first round of chemotherapy as part of the treatment for leukaemia.

What Mary’s letter was referring to was that some folk who meet to pray and talk about God-stuff at our house put together a box for Robert during his time in hospital. It contained lots of envelopes to be opened over the days and weeks he was in hospital- with poems, prayers, sweeties, dvds, books and jokes. It became a ritual for him to open the envelopes each day, and I think (and hope) it was a real blessing to him- and to Mary.

Robert was discharged from hospital on the day of opening of the last envelope. You could not make that up could you?

It makes me want to sing of the beauty of small things, and people who think that life should be about bringing joy to others in a time of great need.

Robert is due back in hospital for more treatment soon- and he is so far away from where we live, if constantly in our thought and prayers. He is probably reading this, and will protest my choice of photo!

I’ll post a better one of you Robert, taken when I next see you!