In a room scented by the smell of sawn timber, a man hears a voice in his inner ear calling him
it is time-
your time, and mine
enough of the mending and making and shaping of wood
time to put aside the tools
the sharp nails…
can wait.
Images by Si Smith
… is the English language root of the word Lent.
40 days
40 days of rain to flood the earth in Genesis
40 years for Israel to wander the desert
40 days of hunger for Moses as he waited for the law of God on Sinai
40 days for Jesus to wander and fast in the desert as preparation for 4 years
And for us- tomorrow we feast on pancakes, as our own 40 days begin- then our Lenten journey towards Easter begins, when Christians traditionally make preparation for remembering and celebrating the death and life of Jesus through prayer, repentance, serving others or self denial/fasting.
To mark the Lent journey on this blog, I am going to use a daily excerpt from ’40’- a collection of images by Si Smith and my words- available from Proost as a book, download or movie.
We in Aoradh have used it several times as a worship installation, but never as a daily Lent meditation.
I do not usually fast during Lent- observance of such things were not a big part of the Evangelical tradition I grew out of- too ‘Catholic’ probably. But this our family have discussed finding something to forgo as part of our celebration of Lent.
Emily suggested meat (we are vegetarian)
William suggested fruit and veg, as this would leave chocolate and chips- and so all the 10 year old food groups are covered.
I am not sure that they quite get it…
We went to the James Duncan exhibition at Benmore Gardens today.
Quite a story- which captures the character of Victorian industrial expansion, philanthropy, sponsorship of the arts and the importance of religion.
Duncan was born in Greenock, to a father wealthy from selling books, but who died young. His son was a bit of a clever lad, who did very well in his studies- particularly chemistry. As a young adult in early Victorian Britain, he had a choice of industries to apply his science within, and chose the sugar industry- one of the engines of prosperity for the West of Scotland. Perhaps even one of the reasons my house was built back in 1840.
After working for various companies, whilst on a wee trip down Loch Long, Duncan came up with a new way of refining sugar- slow boiling it to produce less waste and a higher quality product. He set up partnerships, factories first in Greenock, then in London- and made a vast fortune.
But for this Christian tycoon, born into an age of philanthropy, with such wealth came responsibility. Or perhaps guilt. Duncan began to sponsor all sorts of philanthropic schemes- sewer works, slum improvements, hospitals, libraries, churches (interestingly, despite his Free Church background, he supported both Protestant and Catholic church plants. He was reputed to be giving away 20% of his £100,000 annual income.
Around 1870, he bought Benmore Estate, and set about making huge improvements to the landscape. He built the biggest glass houses in the whole of the country, planted millions of trees, and opened his land for vistitors.
He also began to collect art. He was the first Scottish collector to buy impressionist paintings, and pretty soon, he needed more space to display his collection. He built a massive display hall next to his house at Benmore, and opened it to the public too.
He lost his fortune as the sugar market was transformed by the lifting of trade barriers, and opening the British Empire to cheap imports. He vanished into relative obscurity, forgotten within his own lifetime.
The place of my small sleepy town at the heart of the Empire is a surprise. The morality tale of the rise of huge wealth at the expense of poor people half way across the world, whilst opening up a philanthropic urge to use this wealth responsibly at least in part for the poor people of this country, is also one that seems archetypal of the Victorian age.
There is another interesting footnote to this story. Duncan was a close friend of Charles Haddon Spurgeon– hero of the current Evangelical right wing, super-preacher and Pastor of the Christian world’s first mega church, the Metropolitan Tabernacle.
Spurgeon took holidays at Benmore each year, and regularly preached to thousands of people on the grass of the formal gardens- people who flocked to hear his particular brand of muscular, Bible-first theology.
Both Spurgeon and Duncan were men of their age- forged out of the fires of the enlightenment during a time when everything seemed certain and the world was ripe for improvement. God may or may not have been an Englishman, but he certainly showed favour on the righteous and industrious men of the British Empire. Or so it seemed.
The legacy that these men left is far from insignificant. But from our perspective, it is nuanced and shadowed, like a finely carved marble statue, gathering layers of grime and bird droppings, belonging to another age.
I loved this-
Jacqueline Novogratz TED speech, discussing her experience of people who have immersed themselves in a cause, a community, a passion for justice.
How I wish this for my kids, and for the life I have left in me.
The legacy we leave should mean more than the fact that we achieve a certain insecure suburban comfort.
So when I look at my beautiful daughter, and see the pull of peer pressure towards the destructive things that each generation lays on its young people, I have this longing to see her catch a glimpse of how short, how fragile, and yet how glorious this life is.
Immerse yourselves in the sea of humanity my love. And swim well, in the company of the weak, so that together we might be strong.
We are just back from a lovely meal with our friends Nick and Lindsay.
Nick has been writing a lot of stuff on his blog on the theme of gratefulness- being thankful for all the good stuff we have in our lives- and we were teasing him a little about him morphing from Shrek into Polyanna.
If you have not come across the story of Polyanna before, she is a little girl who copes with adversity by the power of sunny disposition and optimism- transforming the lives of people around her along the way.
And she plays the ‘glad game’-
Teasing aside- there is a kind of gratefulness that allows us to enter into our situation in a deeper, more connected way- to be more mindful, more alive. Thankfulness opens us up to something vital and good.
This is not the same thing as ignoring adversity, and pretending all is well. There is pain, and seasons of suffering will come. But it might be that living in gratefulness is a humble path towards healing and wholeness.
My wife Michaela (for whom Polyanna has always been a bit of a role model) had a tough time a year or so ago, and as part of her own recovery, started to write in her diary three things that she was grateful for each day.
Very occasionally it is- me.
Some photos taken by Michaela the other day.
Lovely.
Rob Bell’s new book is already cooking up a storm– and it is not out yet.
It seems he is being accused of heresy.
Must read it.
Although I can’t help but feel just a little bit cynical about the fact that all this controversy will likely make the book a publishing phenomenon- which will certainly make his publishers very happy.
Twitter is going mad about it all apparently.
Although controversy as an end in itself is pretty pointless, some times perhaps it has to be confronted because the issues need to be cracked open by people who are prepared to say uncomfortable things. The book deals with an issue that feels absolutely of this time- right now. That is how we understand heaven and hell- the subject of a discussion in my small group as recently as last night.
I see that Rob Bell is at Greenbelt this year- I hope I get to hear him, if he survives the lynch mobs…
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I loved this-
It is the new greenhouse at Will’s school. He has been collecting fizzy drink bottles for months.
So the kids now have a really cool eco greenhouse, but no teeth.
Here are the instructions on how to make one for yourself-
1500 bottles. Better start drinking…
‘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.
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.
this fragile tent 