Author Archives: Chris Goan

Conversation as dance…

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A little more from my Ecclesiastes 3 ‘seasons’ project…

Now is the time to dance

There is a time for all things under heaven…
And today we met

You raised a friendly eyebrow-
Quizzical, but not unfriendly
I smile
And make some comment about weather
Or the price of bread
You laugh, and in the music of your voice
I hear the Spirit
And the dance begins

It is not King David dancing naked
Nor the dance of St Vitus
I have no grace, no artistry
But still
We were beautiful

You settled down in a seat close by
And looked out the window
Finding something to examine in the middle distance
And we were quiet
Aware of each other
But without acknowledgment
Between us however, almost visible in the air we share
Are questions
Identity
History
Activity
Humanity

I do not jive to feel alive
Nor dance like an Egyptian
I am the ungainly morris man
Or like an old bloke at a wedding
Who should know better
But still this waltz we begin
Is under our very own
Mirror ball

Outside the sun warmed the winter day
And kids played
You found a hook to hang a sentence on
And dangled it in my direction
So we moved closer to one another
And music swelled
We spoke of the purpose of the day
And a little of the life lived around it
The shape of you showed a little

I can dance a Gay Gordon
Like a church warden
But should I try the disco
I am a herd of elephants
With ants in their pants
But you and me
We are starting to tangle
In tango

We found the rhythm
And something in the music made it possible
To speak of things usually buried deep
And with a surprising cadence
We found ourselves in a minor key
Dealing in brokenness
Pain and hurt
Trust betrayed
Damage done that left deep scars

Some people dance like Salome
To beguile and manipulate
But if you should fall under my spell
Your head will never be upon a plate

The conversation turned to Jesus
And his failing followers
And I held my breath, lest I tread your toes into the carpet
Until in a moment I was Neuryev
My blood flowed like silk
And we were alive
Salsaing with the Spirit of God

Because now
Is the time
To dance

dance

Englishness, marmite and folk music…

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Here’s a bit of cockney folk-punk raconteur Billy Bragg, backed by a selection of brilliant musicians- including guitar genius Martin Carthy, and Chris Wood, he with the ‘dark brown voice’.

It manages to combine some stuff that says something right and true about being from a particular English tradition. One that is unsure of itself, and even if it has some awareness of it’s roots, is not static, but takes and incorporates from other cultures, and becomes something new…

And despite all the Empire Building and oppressing.

Despite the dark satanic mills and the miners strike.

Despite the Tolpuddle Martyrs and the Poll Tax.

Despite the Spinning Jenny and the Enclosure Acts

Despite Margaret Thatcher and the death of ideology

England is still a wonderful place.

And because the sound quality of the last one was rubbish- here is a bit more from the collective of musicians called ‘The imagined village.’

Finally, from the same collection- a slice of Benjamin Zephaniniah which gathers some more ideas of Englishness…

Winter (and William) stage a comeback…

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Will with hood up

Will with hood up

William has been away to the Lochgoilhead Feis this weekend, run by Lochgoilhead fiddle workshop.

He has had a ball- lessons on the Clarsach (hence the photo in the earlier post) the fiddle, and whistle, as well as Gaelic singing and pecussion.

He also had a chance to do a high ropes course, go out on a high speed boat, and shoot arrows. We missed him, but he had loads of fun.

We went to fetch him this afternoon, and to watch some of the kids put on a bit of a show. It was great to see so much enthusiasm for making music- which I think is one of those key things that holds communities together. Because Will is at a Gaelic unit in school, he has a chance to get involved in all sorts of Scottish cultural events- and it gives us such pleasure to see him soaking into the stuff of our adopted land.

A few weeks ago he went to a Celtic connections event with school, and seemed to pick up a hero in young singer Norrie MacIver, accordionist, beatboxer and member of the band Bodega. Norrie was one of the tutors at the Feis, and Will has come back full of enthusiasm- wanting to take up learning an instrument again. Thanks Norrie! We all need role models, and people to draw us on…

The weather was dreadful though! The drive down the spectacular Hells Glen is always a challenge- and when there is snow on the road it can be treacherous.

So here are some photos…

Now is the time to scatter…

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Now is the time to scatter

There is a time for all things under heaven

A time for the sent ones of God
To follow the rough roads
Into the barren broken places
To look for the marks left by Jesus
On the soft tissue
And brittle bones
Of the Imago Dei
The stinking
Wretched
Image bearers of the Living God

Time for the insurgency of God
To follow the mission
Into the hostile places
To seek out the secret stains left by the love
That was woven
Into the very core
Of the Imago Christi
The failing
Faithless
Manifest images of the Christ

Time for the dancers of the new Kingdom dance
To look for the music of Jesus
Amid the static and street noise
Tuning to the high fluting fragile sound
Vibrant and resonant
To the gracenotes
Made there by Spiritus Sanctus
By we discordant
Cursing and gossiping
Vessels of the Spirit of the Living God

Time for the revolutionaries of God
To follow the long hard march
Unyoked and with easy burdens
Looking for the soft places where people are
Where freedom flickers
And our hearts soar
And seek out the Participatio Christi
The weak but willing hands
And sore feet
Of those who would work where Jesus is

For now is the time for holy huddles to scatter
On the winds of the Spirit

A postcard from our community…

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Another piece of heaven.

Housegroup has just finished again tonight. Just 9 of us, a log fire, and a packet of hobnobs.

And this evening, we shared with a friend who had finally made contact with a long lost daughter, we laughed a lot, and cried a little.

We shared our struggles with all the stories of God ordering genocide in the OT (Check out 1 Samuel chapter 15.)

And we wrote letters to some friends.

Lovely. And I am so grateful.

This is cool- online anagrams…

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If you love words, like I do- you will love this.

Check out this anagram making site...

I threw in ‘This fragile tent’ to see what it would give me, and oh what pithy delight!

Here is a delicious selection. You can be the judge as to which ones are most fitting!

Flatteries thing

Heartfelt siting

Integrates filth

Fattest hierling

Latte infighters

Faith resettling

And- perhaps my favourite… Faltering theist

Time to be born…

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We are just back from a lovely picnic and walk around Benmore Gardens, where the early rhododendrons are already flowering. Thought I would post a few pictures.dscf3609

So following on from my last post’s burst of optimism- heres another poem from the Ecclesiastes 3 project…

A time to be born

There is a time for all things under heaven

A time when the last bones of winter snow
Are digested by the old dogs of the mountain
And all things are possible
All things are made new

A time when hills are full of the hope of life
From creaking peak to fecund valley
Sky above trees above gorse above grass
The spring has sprung
And shaken out at last
Once tucked in rolled tight buds
Now made leaf and flower
By the prodigal sun

So here it is
Hearts bleating
Pulses buzzing
Weaving us new nests
And swaddling us bright green

For now is the time to be born

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Now is the time to laugh…

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I think the somber tone of this blog needs a little poke with a stick.

As a continuation of my Ecclesiastes 3 project, here is a rather lighter subject!

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A time to laugh

There is a time for all things under heaven

There is a time for friends to linger with one another
And tell tales of the absurdity of life
A time to watch the night in with wine
And hot curries
And the odd well timed
Noxious gaseous emission

For, in good company
A pan-gag
A trip on a crease in the carpet
Or even a terrible pun-
These things can be holy

So in the warm hollow of the hands of fellowship
We sat and soaked in the goodness that comes only
When old friends come together
And exchanged gentle familiar insults-
The sort that are like badges of belonging
We avoid some things because it might darken our gathering
And others because some things are better
Left unsaid

And should the conversation turn too serious
Someone will find a crack in the buttock of pomposity
And insert a cold spoon of humour

For now is the time
To laugh