I am very proud of my niece, who is part of Nottingham youth dance company. She is just about to start proper ballet school, so all the very best Elizabeth- my very favourite niece… ( I had to have a think then to make sure that she is my only niece!)
Lily and her company were dancing @ the Edinburgh Festival this year, and I have just been looking at some photos of them performing in the street.
I am no dancer. I am six and a half feet tall and almost as wide. People who can dance have a gift that is beyond my understanding, but through watching these talented young people, I am learning to appreciate the power of bodies moving to music- the ability to convey emotion, beauty, even truth.
The Bible too is full of references to dancing. Dancing as worship, dancing as celebration, dancing as a kind of childlike innocence, and dancing to ensnare and entrap.
Dance on then Lily. It will always be a joy to come and watch…
Today I attended the choose life conference @ Stonefield Castle near Tarbet.
Choose life are an organisation whose purpose is to support initiatives that seek to help reduce the suicide rate in Scotland.
Scotland has one of the highest suicide rates in Western Europe, particularly in men. Suicide is the largest single cause of death in males under 35.
Suicide rates are almost always higher in areas of deprivation- in urban areas. However, when you control for deprivation, the next highest risk group are older men in rural areas. Strangely enough, living in rural areas seems to be a protective factor for women, but the opposite for men.
Speculation about the causal factors behind these figures might include the availability of instruments of greater violence in rural situations- farmers and forestry workers who have access to fire arms, and the isolation and poor support networks for people living and working in such situations.
Perhaps above all things however, people are at most risk when they become unable to think positively about the future- when they have lost hope.
Choose life run courses that help people think about the issue of suicide, and how we might help one another to spot those who are at risk, and access the help that might be needed.
Today there was also someone there from Breathing Space, a telephone/online helpline which attracts thousands and thousands of calls, and was originally aimed towards young men. Give it a try- here.
Christians deal in hope. It is this that Jesus gave us above all things. Hope of a world blessed by grace and beauty, and the possibility of healing and renewal. The New Kingdom- promised and possible- here right now.
And because of this, wherever we might be able to see increase of the things of the Kingdom- wherever we might be able to fan the flames of hope- there we should be, I reckon.
Margaret Thatcher’s daughter Carol has recently written movingly about her mother’s advancing Alzheimers Disease. THere was an interesting debate on the radio this evening concerning whether Carol should have revealed these intimate details of her mothers dementia, as her mother now lacks the ability to give her consent to this.
The spectre of old age infirmity and loss of faculties hangs over all of us. Author Terry Pratchett has been outspoken about his own dementia, and it seems to me that any publicity that raises the profile of the experience of this growing group of people is a good thing. Even better if this results in increased funding for research and development in treatment and care of older folks.
Anyone who has to visit the back wards of the oldest parts of our hospitals (where the ‘elderly acute’ wards are almost always to be found) will be aware that such places often appear to be nothing more than warehouses for amateur cadavers. Despite some wonderful staff, for most of the people who end their days there- after a referral of last resort- dignity has long gone.
But- Margaret Thatcher- vulnerable, human, just like the rest of us…
I grew up in Thatcher’s Britain. Communities I lived in where split apart by her calculated battle with the National Union of Miners, and now almost all the pits are gone. I write this sat in a car driving through Sheffield on out way down to Derbyshire to attend a family wedding. All the steel works are gone. The old industrial sites are covered with scrub, or been cleared back to make shrines to the great patron of retail parks, Margaret herself…
Were all those broken communities and broken lives necessary? Did economic reality make them inevitable, as Margaret always said? Did the Free Market really know best? History will decide, I suppose. But her status as an iconic epoch shifter is already cast in bronze.
But in the 1980’s, we knew who our enemy was. She was Satan in a twin-set. She personified everything that we rejected. It all came back to ideology- and hers was based on a selfish individualism, and an elevation of greed as an engine for social change. Or that is the way half of Britain saw it.
She inspired incredible idolatry from her followers. And generated genuine loathing from the other side of the spectrum, perhaps like no other democratic politician before or since. It is possible to understand the divisive effect she had more fully by remembering a song by Elvis Costello called ‘Tramp the dirt down.’ It included these lines;
I saw a newspaper picture from the political campaign A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain She spills with compassion, as that young child’s face in her hands she grips Can you imagine all that greed and avarice coming down on that child’s lips
Well I hope I don’t die too soon I pray the Lord my soul to save Oh I’ll be a good boy, I’m trying so hard to behave Because there’s one thing I know, I’d like to live long enough to savour The day they finally put you in the ground
I’ll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down
Words by Elvis Costello, from the album ‘Spike’, 1989.
With the benefit of a few years family-raising and Brodski-quartet-consorting, the angry man of pop might regret these words now, but the point is, some of us sang along to these words with relish at the time.
So Margaret, may your end be kind.
And may those whose fate was once in your hands not wish upon your head the pain of poverty and powerlessness.
And may each one of us be worth so much more than a distant decimal point in an economist’s prediction…
I thought it was worth giving this new enterprise a plug. With ebay behind it, it should be successful!
Here’s the blurb;
WorldofGood.com by eBay is the world’s first online marketplace to convene thousands of People Positive and Eco Positive sellers and products all in one place, empowering you to shop in ways that align with your personal values. Respected, independent organizations verify the positive impact every product has on people and the planet. Our goal is to ensure that every choice you make here is a good one.
We humans are so good at creating boundaries- in groups, and out groups. Nations states often seem to have a dependent relationship with their enemies.
We have seen the extremes of this- the walls around China, or Berlin, and now- Palestine.
This learning to love thing- it is tough.
I have commented before on how difficult living in community with others can be- how it peels you and then salts the sore bits. (See here.)
At times I think that anyone who tries to live like this is engaging in a foolish ritual, that is guaranteed to be fruitless and painful. Like squatting in spurs.
But then I see a flicker again of how things should be. A friend with an arm around another, seeming to generate warmth that is tangible. Or a relationship that has been bad, now made good… and the picture given to us in Acts 3 seems possible.
32All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had. 33With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and much grace was upon them all. 34There were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned lands or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales 35and put it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to anyone as he had need.
But lets never kid ourselves that this path of love is an easy one- or even an instinctive one.
our rambling old house
We British people have been blessed with many good things- comparative peace, the rule of law, freedoms that others envy. Our experience of poverty and injustice is often second hand. But sometimes, our castles are seiged- just a little,,,
We live in a big old house in Dunoon, that we regard as God’s house. (Although, somewhat unfairly, the mortgage is ours!) We try to keep open doors, and offer respite to folk who need it. We use the many rooms for all sorts of different things, and for us, the house is a blessing through which we seek to bless others.
In our town there are many issues over boundaries and access to property. Our house is accessed over a rough track that goes over land owned by another property. This is no problem of itself- there are laws that deal with ‘kith and carriage’, and the requirement to maintain people’s rights of access. Our house was built in 1840, and used to be a hotel- so these are not new issues!
But there will always be some for whom this becomes a problem. We were unfortunate enough to have one of these people moving into the property over which we accessed our house. He decided that he did not like other people using his lane, and did everything he could to try to make it difficult for us, our visitors, and the other people who live up the lane.
He narrowed the entrance, and put in huge speed bumps that damaged cars. He refused to cut away obstructive trees. He blocked the lane with vehicles and refused to let our visitors in or out. He set his dog loose, and laughed when it attacked me.
Neighbours got involved in pitched battles with him, in which he threatened violence. Police and solicitors were involved. We tried our best to stay out of it all. We tried to build a relationship with him, and to speak to his wife and his young son, who would scurry on by. We worried about what sort of life they were leading in the midst of all this aggression and anger.
But living with this eats away at you. Finding a position of love and forgiveness in the shadow of such unpleasantness- this is hard.
It was a great relief to us when he moved away, to a more isolated location up country.
But this being a small town, I keep bumping into him, or his wife. He glares, and I seethe a little.
I need some Holy Spirit help… perhaps yet there will be an opportunity to show something of Jesus…
One thing that happened a couple of days ago though,was that we received a solicitors letter informing us that half of the house next door had been built on our land. It was asking us if we would give consent for the boundaries to be re-drawn.
It was an easy decision to make, and felt very good.
A few weeks ago, we took the canoes out to Loch Striven, round the other side of the Cowal peninsular. We paddled for a while out along the loch, until we found a landing spot next to a raised beach of soft stones. A perfect spot for a picnic.
As with all our coast line, the tide had left its usual selection of plastic, old rope and broken fish boxes on the beach- but I do not think anyone had been there for years.
William and I saw what looked like some old walls in the distance, and went off exploring.
what we found used to be someone’s house. A crofter perhaps, or a fisherman- now long gone.
Much of our small crowded planet can no longer be regarded as true wilderness. As you walk to the hills, you will almost certainly walk over a landscape marked everywhere by man.
Fields and field boundaries – some new, some ancient, shaping the subsequent developments.
Hedgerows and dry stone walls.
Old signs of settlement, perhaps still in use, perhaps now redundant, abandoned, remaining only as a growth of bracken and nettles, rising in ground fertilised by the nitrates left behind in the passing.
The very paths we walk upon have been made by the passing of other feet walking their own walk, into their own unknown uncertain futures, now past and gone.
We humans have transformed the planet in the last few thousand years of our ascendancy. Forests gone, rivers diverted. Roads made straight across mountain and valley. Many of these marks are irreversible, at least in the foreseeable future. The land may clothe them in green, but the marks will remain for thousands of years to come.
As I write, the debate about how our patterns of living might have contributed to accelerating climate change continues to rage.
Humans have been of significant influence on my islands for a mere 5000 years or so. In some parts of the world, they can trace the mark of man further, in many, much less. What a legacy we inherit from our forebears – both great, and fearful.
Our lives have been shaped by this legacy too. We stand on the shoulders of those who gave the land its present shape.
If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrows rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetimes argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are
How fragile we are how fragile we are
I heard this song again the other day for the first time in years- ‘Fragile’ by Sting. Thought it appropriate given the title of this blog…
The song takes me back to being a student, painfully shy, searching for some kind of shelf to hang from. For a while it seemed as though I would surely fall.
It was music, and passionate ideas that saved me.
Oh- and Michaela of course.
Life… is so fragile.
If you can cope with the aching beauty of another song about fragility and loss- check out this track by Martyn Joseph
I felt justified in focusing on such negative aspects of the people of faith as I keep coming across people who used to go to church. When I ask them to tell me their stories, my heart breaks. I have had two conversations in the last week that trod the same path.
But lest it seem as though I just want to bash church- here is something that I hope will redress the balance…
Another film from America, called ‘Lord save us from your followers’ explores the image that Christians portray to the wider US nation and finds evidence that Jesus is at work…
For more info, and a download for the film- check out this link.
I loved Seth Lakeman’s set on Saturday evening- he made me proud- not sure what of exactly- perhaps that English-ness thing again.
A trip down south set me thinking again about my roots, and the nature of our heritage in these wonderful islands.
I have struggled to feel fully at home anywhere- at least in terms of geography. I am Northern English, if anything- and that is a different thing from Southern English I can tell you!
But my father is Irish.
And I live in beautiful, proud Scotland.
But still, I remain… English.
This comes to me in subtle ways. In gentle landscapes and rugged hills misted with rains and quartered off by ‘dry’ stone walls.
In a love for cricket in all its skillful grace.
It is wrapped up in stories of working men trespassing in the Penine hills in defiance of the landowners- claiming the gritstone for their weekends and their children’s picnics.
Of the Levellers and the Luddites and the Chartists.
Of the Methodists who formed the labour movement with their English kind of revolution.
It has nothing to do with this
or even this
Perhaps most of us encounter our roots through our cultural connection- perhaps above all things, through music. Perhaps that why I enjoyed Seth Lakeman driving folk music at Greenbelt so much. Despite him being a Southener, his music, rising as it does from working class South West England, communicates something of the history that connects me with who I am, and where I came from. My Scottish friends can not understand this- any more than I can really ever become Scottish.
One of my favourite bands is another West country duo called A show of Hands. They wrote a song that captures something of this. Here’s a you tube clip of their (somewhat naff!) video. Song is great though…
this fragile tent 
