This made me chuckle yesterday-
I have outlived my youthfulness
so a quiet life for me
Where once
I used to scintillate
Now I sin
Till ten
Past three
Roger McGough
This made me chuckle yesterday-
I have outlived my youthfulness
so a quiet life for me
Where once
I used to scintillate
Now I sin
Till ten
Past three
Roger McGough
(I love the photo above by the way- it was one of those accidental images, taken in the half light of Gloucester cathedral last year.)
I have been thinking a lot more recently about ‘alternative worship’.
I think for many of us, the precursor to these new form of worship and spirituality was charismatic soft rock worship. In the past our spirituality was expressed almost exclusively through weekly climactic events- ecstatic music and inspirational preaching. This form of worship tailed into boredom and irrelevance for many- at the same time as people began to realise that it was possible to rediscover and re-invent many older spiritual practices- and to encounter these in smaller and less hierarchical communities.
Others found their way into alt worship through a dance/club sub culture- which was extremely influential in the early days. Still others were seeking to discover authenticity in more traditional liturgical environments.
Can I point you towards this podcast which digs into the background and history of the movement.
It features an interview with Jonny Baker– who, for those who might not know of him, is one of the movers and entrepreneurs of all sorts of interesting church and community projects, including the worship community Grace, a co-founder of the outlet for lots of resources that is Proost and part of the CMS team who are encouraging so many good things, particularly in the C of E, but also around the world. Jonny has been very encouraging to me personally- around the writing I have done, but also as part of the wider network of small groups doing different mission/community/worship things. A good bloke- with the experience and intelligence to say things that are worth listening to.
This podcast digs into the where alternative worship came from, in all its messy creativity, but also asks where we are now.
I think we are at a point where we need to re examine what alternative worship means- this for both personal local reasons, and for wider ones. In terms of the wider issues first-
The clue is in the title- ‘alternative’. What are we an alternative to? And at what point does someone need to find an alternative to the alternative? it is a term that was formed in change- but of course change soon become establishment, and needs further change.
There appear to me to be different strands already developing. There are some small but high profile urban groups, whose efforts are focused on creating high concept art. These groups are great as exemplars and as inspiration, but most of what they do- in terms of resources, skills and the sub cultures they grow out of- are beyond the rest of us. Perhaps for some they are even alienating and confusing.
Other alternative worship forms appear to be being incorporated and embraced by traditional church- as a way of bringing life and renewal to old structures. Of course there is always the danger that this becomes window dressing for the same old same old.
Then there are groups like mine. Fragile collections of disparate people who are perhaps not trendy or well resourced, but are trying to use skills that we have forgotten that we possessed and (far more importantly) trying to learn how to love each other, despite all the usual obstacles. Here the focus rapidly shifts from doing exciting stuff and being involved in a ‘new thing’, to how we can live with each other in the presence of our hurt and brokenness, and how we can lay ourselves down to worship in a way that is authentic and true despite all this baggage. I suppose this is not alternative worship- it is just worship– perhaps using a wider tool bag to assist us along the way.
For me, this is partly about laying down our ‘art’ and embracing community. Not a thing that I find easy at all. It is also about radical involvement and inclusion- and allowing worship to arise from your context. Our group has many people who are talented ‘craft’ people for example, and a few poets. So we tend to have lots of cutting and sticking and some lovely poems. We are less driven by technology. But should others come who have these skills, the trick will be to involve and encourage…
Some of these issues feel very real and pressing to me at the moment. This for two reasons.
Firstly, Aoradh is still in the middle of a rather developmental transition at the moment. I think we will survive, but at times I have wondered. It is nothing even faintly surprising to anyone who has ever been part of small pioneer groups- all the familiar issues of ethos, focus, the need for honest open relationships and to challenge certain behaviours in a loving and caring way. Oh, and that old issue that we have avoided- LEADERSHIP.
We have been meeting to talk about these things, but this has taken so much energy that we have had little left to be creative and passionate about worship- which kind of defeats the purpose! However, we now have a few things on the horizon, which brings me to the second point.
We are keen to keep our focus LOCAL- finding spaces and partnerships in our own local community. But along side this, we have been invited to participate in some larger national events- like Greenbelt and the new Solas festival. It is an honour to be invited, and also potentially great as a boost for what we are about, and a chance to discover new ideas and friendships. But it also brings into focus some of the issue above.
For instance Greenbelt alt worship has changed. We are being asked to throw ourselves into a creative soup with some other groups to create a day long session. This involves a whole lot of negotiation and on-line collaboration with groups whose ethos and philosophy may well be very different from ours- whose context and constituent parts demand a very different style and approach. Mark Berry has stepped forward to curate and co-ordinate the day we are involved in, and it is going to be fascinating to see how these things come together.
The early discussions have had an interesting effect on my group. We all have different levels of comfort with uncertainty, and some of the e-mails flying round have led to a kind of general retreat, as they have dealt with concepts and ideas that seem beyond us. We are in a developmental phase, but some of my friends are just stepping backwards.
I found myself wondering whether alternative worship is in danger of becoming a showcase for the kind of experiential celebrity driven ‘performance’ that I was glad to leave behind when I stopped leading large scale soft rock worship services.
The heart of this thing (I think) is how we encourage one another as we stumble towards Jesus, and of creating deliberate communal spaces to share this journey.
I have found so much life and encouragement around alternative/emerging/missional practices. But they are just words after all…
Michaela is away for the weekend to meet an old school friend in the Lake District. The kids and I needed an little adventure of our own and so I somewhat reluctantly agreed to a trip to an amusement park.
I am not a fan of these places. They are very expensive, and I usually feel rather depressed by the tacky pre-packaged fear-tainment- each step we take carefully ‘monetized’ (forgive the Americanism.)
They are all about noise, smelly fast food and rust-streaked mass manipulation and they offer a quick adrenaline buzz which is over in a flash of neon and a wave of nausea.
It is a far cry from the trips into empty wild places that I love so much- and try to inculcate into my children’s souls.
But to be honest, like most parents I am happiest when I have made my kids happy.
It was touch and go for a while. We arrived in a burst of excited chatter from the kids, and paid out the best part of £70 for tickets then walked around the park as the rides opened deciding what seemed possible and what we would avoid at all costs.
We all had such different thresholds. Emily would go on most things, me on a few- Will became increasingly quiet, and I knew that his world was getting smaller.
And so in this rather dreadful modern excuse for living fuller and more present lives, we all began a kind of journey.
Emily went on almost every ride- daring herself towards the extreme. There was also a reptile house, and she overcame her fear of spiders and held a Tarantula.
I too was banged and crashed around on roller coasters, and soaked on log flumes and water chutes.
But the greatest journey was made by William.
William is at his happiest when with his friends in the forest with a stick and a head full of pokemania. He is comfortable with what is known and understood and has little interest in what lies beyond this. So standing before a huge Ferris wheel, or a plunging water slide, or even a roller coaster aimed at little kids-he was transfixed with fear, and no amount of persuasion or encouragement would force him forward.
Emily was great, and took him on some little rides. He had a go on trampolines and crazy golf. But he was not happy. When I pushed him a little too hard, he wept into my shoulder.
So began a long conversation about how life was full of things that will shrink us down into ever smaller boxes- and how the only way to deal with fear was to face it and take some small steps into the danger zone. And how we often find that when we do the the fear itself retreats and new things become possible.
And there in that artificial and rather unpleasant space, that is just what happened to Will. After a gulp he decided to go for the big scary Ferris wheel. He was visibly shaking- holding every muscle rigid, but still he climbed into the cage…
And the old magic happened. As we are exposed to fear, our autonomic nervous systems fire into fight or flight mode- thoughts become hyper focused and instinctive, blood flows to muscles, breathing becomes shallow and quick. We become totally pre-occupied with making the fear go away– and making the symptoms of the fear go away too. But for most of the time (particularly when the risk is measured or even unreasonable) if we stay in the moment- face up to the fear but act anyway- then we find that over a few minutes (around 5-20 mins) the fear tails away, and the most primitive part of ourselves recalibrates to view this action as ‘safe’.
In this way, like the ripples made by a stone on still water, we expand.
Alternatively, if we avoid the fear then not only does this unlearning fail to happen, but actually we are likely to entrench the autonomic response still further. In some cases, the fear then encroaches on other areas of life like a kind of psychological gangrene.
Fear of falling then may extend to ladders, to tall buildings, to airplanes, to staircases.
In some cases, mixed with the right amount of vulnerability and damaging childhood experience, these fears make us a prisoner in our own bodies. They stop us coming out of our protective huddles- sometimes they stop people leaving their front doors.
It is kind of easy to visualise the fears of childhood- but so much more difficult to understand and unlock the fears that hold us as adults. I am reminded of that point where Jesus sends out his followers in twos to declare the New Kingdom in acts of healing and deliverance- and when some demons prove to be beyond them, he says that some only are over come by prayer and fasting. It is almost as if he is saying- there are no magical answers to this kind of freedom- it requires work.
Yesterday Williams faced up to his fear- and stood on top of his own mountain. And I was so proud of him.
May we stand on ours.
Because it is for FREEDOM that we are set free.
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…
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
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…
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…
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…
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.
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?