“Why do men no longer go to church?”

‘Beyond Belief’ on radio 4 asked this question today, quoting statistics that would suggest that 35% of the male members of congregations have stopped attending in the last 10 years. It is well worth a listen – here.

And as I confessed in my most recent post- I am one of them- at least as far as Sunday attendance at traditional church services goes.

This despite the continued male-domination of the religious machine, and the historic misogynistic flavour of many of our religious traditions (at odds with the way Jesus turned the tables on gender stereotypes.)

The questions I have often heard asked are-

What is about church that alienates men- even more so than women?

What is it about male spirituality that is no longer catered for within church?

How are healthy, holy versions of masculinity affirmed and modeled within church?

The spirituality of Jesus and his band of (male) disciples was one that tended to use words like these-

Risk taking,courage, self sacrifice, togetherness, adventure, mission, journey, loyalty, faithfulness in the long haul, friendship. ‘Taking a prophetic stance in order to change the world.’

The stories of the new men of the New Kingdom are full of tales of men fishing together. Learning and debating on the road. Living out practical God stuff in the presence of real human tragedy and ecstasy. The shadow of death and love of life in the middle of dangerousness.

What people like me have been forced to acknowledge is that our experience of church is often not like this at all.

We seem to have reduced spiritual practice to a very narrow band- as someone said on the programme- ‘Everything fixed by reading the Bible more and praying more.’ The problem is above all a moral one, and the answer to the problem easily results in  living more narrow, less colourful lives- less connected, less rounded, less real.

.

So- what is the answer?

There were stories of wilderness retreats on the programme, which is something we have been experimenting with for a few years too (here and here for example.) Dorothy recently sent me some information about a course being run at The Bield doing similar things too- along the lines of the Richard Rohr ‘Rites of Passage’ material.

The chance for us to go off on these kind of defined pilgrimages can be wonderful.

I have a mixed feeling about  male-only courses though. Some of this may relate to my own lack of clarity over what it means to be ‘masculine’- and what of my masculinity is praise worthy, positive and to be preserved.

I also am slightly suspicious of some of the language- the ‘warrior’ stuff, and the idea that at the heart of every man beats the heart of a hunter. I am not sure I ever want to fight or kill anything or any one- even in metaphor.

Richard Rohr describes his encounters with groups of nuclear scientists like this- “They don’t have a language to talk about faith.  They can’t discuss things, the chaplain says, unless they are objectified and given a law, order and structure.  But the language of inner states, inner movements, inner awareness, and inner consciousness is foreign to them.” I know men who are just like this- and many others who are entirely UNLIKE this.

I also strongly feel that male spirituality is substantively just the same as any other kind of spirituality. And I am not convinced that the answer to men leaving church is just to make what we already do more ‘butch’- tone down the love stuff and make it all less touchy-feely. As if women are not leaving church too.

Faith without works is dead- but ‘works’ without an inner awareness will almost always lead to damage- both to our self and to others. We need to be active and vital in how we live lives, but we also need to discover those soft supposedly feminine attributes and stop pretending that we can live like stones.

a final thought- I have come to believe that the obsession with getting men (and women) to come to church is entirely the wrong emphasis- rather we need to discover new/old ways to take church to them.

New/old ways to live out the mission of God in our context, and to learn to share this in community.

New/old ways to live authentic real lives.

And at the end of each day, new/old jokes to share around a fireside.

 

 

Sabbath beach…

I have a confession.

For most of my life, I have spent most of Sundays in Church- all those high pressure mornings in some leadership role or other, often followed by reluctant evenings (even if they did turn out to be a real blessing.) But that is not my confession.

Rather it is this- for the past few weeks, I have spend Sunday mornings playing cricket.

It still makes me feel guilty though. Despite the fact that we do ‘church’ differently- we meet in the week, as well as other times.

But this is a chance to do something I enjoy along with my cricket mad son. It is a chance to connect with some other blokes, and to get some good exercise.

And Sunday, I remind myself, is about rest. And all those years of busyness- they were certainly not restful.

After the training session this morning, we went for a picnic- to a local beach out beyond Tighnabruach on the other side of the Cowal peninsular. The sun shone, it was almost warm, and the scenery was stunning.

Lambs in the fields, snow on the Arran mountains, still waters beyond perfect sand. Catkins on the trees and frogs spawning in the ditches.

This will be a day to remember.

A real sabbath to remind us to stop- and to be grateful.

 

Rise…

It is there in me again- that pull towards Spring.

This morning the mountains are suffocated in another heavy fall of snow, and it is cold. Cold.

It will not last- the rain is already starting to mottle it into the hillside, but it sits there at the moment like repressed hope- and as the proverb says, hope deferred makes the heart sick.

So, by way of antidote, here is a song from the soundtrack of one of my favourite films…

Such is the way of the world
You can never know
Just where to put all your faith
And how will it grow
.
Gonna rise up
Burning black holes in dark memories
Gonna rise up
Turning mistakes into gold

.
Such is the passage of time
Too fast to fold
Suddenly swallowed by signs
Low and behold
.
Gonna rise up
Find my direction magnetically
Gonna rise up
Throw down my ace in the hole

Eddie Vedder- ‘Rise’ from the soundtrack of ‘Into the Wild’.

Making fire and longing for spring…

I am longing for spring.

It always happens to me around this time of the year. Not because winter isn’t beautiful, but rather because spring releases something in me. It is a physical thing, as well as a psychological/spiritual thing.

The days open up and lengthen with a soft green light.

New life is everywhere- every leaf, every lamb, every bracken shoot is a bursting with hope and potential.

And I can start to linger again in wild places- perhaps in my new camping hammock! A present from Michaela for Christmas. I am still not sure exactly how sleeping in a hammock under a tarpaulin will compare to a tent, but I am looking forward to finding out.

The other essential ingredient to such a trip is this one-

Here in Scotland, as opposed to England, sensible and sensitive use of small campfires is permissable- check out the Scottish Outdoor Access Code. This is a controversial issue- as in high pressure beauty spots such as Loch Lomond, the mess made by weekend revellers is everywhere.

Trees ripped and damaged, charred paper and disposable barbecues strewn around- and always some idiots who think it is possible to burn bottles and cans in wood fire and as a result leave a welded mess on the otherwise pristine shore line.

It has long been a point of argument between my friends and I as to which one of us lights the best fire. I maintain that my ‘chimney’ technique, where combustible material is stacked above the source of heat in a collapsible, self feeding tower is the best way. But the reality is that none of us are really good at it.

I have never successfully used one of those spark making fire steels, let alone rubbed sticks together to make flame.

So to help us dream of long evenings under the spring stars- here is a bloke who knows what he is doing-

Our turn for some snowy chaos….

We have escaped the worst of the winter weather so far this year- sure we have had ice and snow, but not the deep suffocating blanket that others have had elsewhere.

But this morning, heavy rain turned suddenly to thick snow, and over the course of about 5 minutes the roads were treacherous. Will’s school bus was defeated, and after trying to get him to school through the traffic madness, we gave up as all the roads were blocked.

He has not yet stopped dancing around the house singing “No scho-ool, no scho-ool, no scho-ool.”

Green…

I force my way into the wet wood

Kicking my way through

The tangle of moss covered branches

And the hungry ground sucks at me

Wanting to wrap me in all shades of aggressive green

And from my feet upwards

I am mulched

 

It could swallow me whole

And I would need no grave

 

Still, birch bark makes a fine memorial

And the ragged hanging lichens

Will flutter their prayers

Above me

 

Into the wild, and Eddie Vedder…

I recently discovered the soundtrack to one of my favourite films- Sean Penn’s ‘Into the Wild’.

The film was from a book by John Krakauer of the same title, which told the true story of Christopher McCandless, who decided to quit society, and his comfortable upbringing, and disappeared into the wilderness. It tells the story of the people he met and influenced, the encounters he had with wild places, and his eventual lonely death in Alaska.

The book is an examination of the place of wilderness in our post-modern world. The film is something else- a visual feast, full of photographic cinematography and gentle simple people. It made me cry- not because of the tragic ending but because of its great humanity.

And then there is the sound track. By Pearl Jam’s lead singer Eddie Vedder.  Featuring these two great songs-

Oh it’s a mystery to me.
We have a greed, with which we have agreed…
and you think you have to want more than you need…
until you have it all, you won’t be free.

Society, you’re a crazy breed.
I hope you’re not lonely, without me.

When you want more than you have, you think you need…
and when you think more then you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
I think I need to find a bigger place…
cause when you have more than you think, you need more space.

In which I write for The Guardian!

Well, almost anyway.

I posted a travel tip in an idle moment a few weeks ago, as Michaela had just broken her camera, and here was a chance to win her a replacement.

I forgot about it, until this evening, when Michaela sat reading the weekend Guardian. It usually takes at least a week- you know what weekend papers are like.

And there I was, in nice black print. I have now scratched my name on the fabric of time and space to be remembered for ever. Or at very least to be a posh chip wrapping.

I did not win the camera though.

It was a tip about the Isle of Coll, as a beach back packing destination. One of many wonderful Argyll islands.