Scooping them up for the Kingdom…

koder-sharing-bread

Lovely chat tonight out at our pub discussion thingy- talking about the Kingdom of God.

It is an old discussion for many of us, but we were chewing again on all those mysterious stories that Jesus told us- those The Kingdom of God is like… stories. Mustard seeds, fields of weedy wheat, women making bread with yeast, corn falling on random ground etc. It is all rather mixed up and mysterious, particularly as the stories from Matthew’s gospel tend to have the odd bit of smiting and burning in torment, all of which does not fit with fluffy-Jesus very well.

We talked too about our understanding of The Gospel- which for most of us used to be the saving sinners from hell when they die thing, and how this version of the Gospel comes mostly from a reading of Paul’s letter to the Romans backwardly applied to the rest of the Bible, when actually the Gospel that Jesus talked about was this one;

Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand.

(Or perhaps)

Its time to turn things around, shake things up, take a long hard look at yourself, because there is a deeper, more beautiful way of living that has come to you- the insurgency of God…

Our discussion then turned to what living as an agent/citizen/participant in this Kingdom/Revolutionary movement/Insurgency might mean.

The old understanding of the Gospel made it all simple- saving the lost so that they might go to heaven. Our primary purpose is evangelism. All other tasks are distractions from the Gospel. I find this narrative very difficult on all sorts of levels now, but the mission of the Kingdom is far more challenging, vitalising, engaging- we leave behind the hard in-out legalism and instead have to practice the disciplines of love (Romans 13:10)

This might in the face of it seem rather woolly and directionless, like encouraging one another to go out and be nice. However love is not just a passive thing- it demands action, particularly in the face of desperate need and danger to those who might be regarded as the recipients of our love.

I began to wonder about the old call to ‘save the lost’, usually applied to those who are not like us, so therefore were in danger of roasting in hell.

My friend Pauling put it rather neatly- Love might involve “Scooping a few people up” she said. Some people need scooped. And we might need to do a bit of scoopage.

We laughed- but despite all those old dangers of paternalism/maternalism, sometimes scooping people up- lifting them, holding them, is just what we need to do. The lost and the least, the broken people, the awkward, the lame, the lonely.

We used to call this Salvation, evidenced by conversion. For some this leads to amazing transformation- there is nothing woolly about this kind of love, or this kind of insurgency.

Is it time to reclaim the language of salvation for the Kingdom of God?

We can call it Scoopage if you like.

How to deal with extremists…

ARABIA_SAUDITA_-_terrorismo_islamico

Invite them in for a cup of tea of course.

There are scary things happening at the moment- in the wake of the brutal murder of a young man on the streets of Woolwich  in broad daylight, something is being unleashed.

In many ways it feels like the time is right for scapegoats. They are always a useful release or distraction at times of economic trouble. The 1926 great depression led to the great purges in Europe of the Jews. In more recent times Thatcher had a series of social groups to blame- the miners, New Age Travelers, benefits scroungers,

Currently there is a real danger that the next scapegoats will be Muslim.

Politicians start to talk about dealing with radical preachers. Fear is stoked. ‘The other’ is cartoonised and selectively described. The nuances, the complexity of it all is stripped away- there are the good guys (us) and them; the evil, half human terrorists who want to kill us all whilst shouting Allahu Akbar.

How do you deal with extremism? Surely the first thing we have to do is to set aside the dehumanising stereotype and talk. Meet real people and hear stories. Listen to each others world view and seek understanding.

I read a great example of exactly that today; The English Defence League  organised one of their protests outside a Mosque in York. The EDL is a scary far right organisation, with roots in the old British National Party and football hooliganism.  These are not people who like to talk- they would rather throw insults and broken bottles. The people in the Mosque had every reason to feel afraid. However, according to the Guardian, this is what happened;

York mosque dealt with a potentially volatile situation after reports that it was going to be the focus of a demonstration organised by a far-right street protest movement – by inviting those taking part in the protest in for tea and biscuits.

Around half a dozen people arrived for the protest, promoted online by supporters of the EDL. A St George’s flag was nailed to the wooden fence in front of the mosque.

However, after members of the group accepted an invitation into the mosque, tensions were rapidly defused over tea and plates of custard creams, followed by an impromptu game of football.

A young member of York mosque displays his message.

A young member of York mosque displays his message. Photograph: Anne Czernik

Leanne Staven, who had come for the protest, said that she had not come to the mosque to cause trouble but because “We need a voice”. “I think white British who have any concerns feel we can’t speak freely,” she said.

“Change has been coming for a long time and in light of what happened to that soldier in Woolwich there have to be restrictions on people learning extremist behaviour and it has to stop.”

Mohammed el-Gomati, a lecturer at the University of York, said: “There is the possibility of having dialogue. Even the EDL who were having a shouting match started talking and we found out that we share and are prepared to agree that violent extremism is wrong.

“We have to start there. Who knows, perhaps the EDL will invite us to an event and the Muslim community will be generous in accepting that invitation?”

Ismail Miah, president of York mosque, added: “Under the banner of Islamthere are very different politics: democratic politics, the far right, left, central, all over. You can’t target a whole community for what one or two people have done.

“What they’ve done in London is for their own reasons but there’s no reasoning behind it from an Islamic point of view.”

Transcendence…

Light obscured

Not in the ‘other worldly’ sense, the God who is removed and distant. For me, Transcendence means something hyper-real, something that saturates the ordinary, but which somehow connects us with the divine.

in a previous post I tried to define it like this;

… I mean the experience of God in the ordinary. The incarnation of the maker of the universe within the temporal, messy world in which we live and love.

Transcendent moments fill our lives if we look for them. And the more we attune ourselves to the looking the more we see.

They are everywhere in the natural world; sunsets, new leaves, mushrooms in caves, the lick of new born fur, the light of the moon on still water, the smell of rain on dry earth, the sea that goes on for ever. All these things will happen whether or not we are there as witnesses. But when we look in a certain kind of way a hollow space opens up in the middle of them into which we can meet with something transcendent. Into which we can invite/be invited by the living God.

They are everywhere too where humans also are. In conversations, in touch, in the longing for justice, in the decision to forgive, in the deciding to repay hurt with love, in the listening and in the laughing. Because God is a God of communion. God commands love, and love requires direction. Perhaps above all, the transcendent God is immanent when we come together in community.

They are encountered in art, because art can become a bridge to something beyond our business. Films, books, poems, paintings, sculptures, music.

They can even be encountered in church – for me, especially when we sing, when the chordal voices find the vault of the building and make it vibrate.

I have been thinking about what all this might mean to us again, and wrote this;

.

Unpregnant

.

In the corner of my gaze something moved

I blinked

Reminded of almost imperceptible stars

Sky all black like bruises

Pricked with harsher things

.

Did I form you out of some ancient river bed?

Did I raise you up on poles?

Are you just déjà vu

For the deluded last few

Will science yet prove us all fools?

.

Then the night whispers

Like an unknown breath on puckered skin

Like the scent of sea to a sailor

Like a poem whose words are not yet spoken

Like an unpainted painting

Or a song still yet to be sung

Like a reed still yet to be fluted

Or a string that was never strung

Like the silence when echoes have faded

Like an unpregnant womb

Still waiting

How they lived…

DSCF6870

It is an old theme- what makes for a good life? What motivates, inspires? For where your treasure is- there is your heart also (Matt 6:21.)

Over the last few days a series of cruise liners have been into the Ocean Terminal in Greenock. I am never sure why they come in here- presumably to pick up fuel, stores and possibly passengers. Last week the Queen Mary came along the Clyde– the fastest and most luxurious liner on the planet.

Greenock- a town splintered by the effect of economic change- the death of industry, the end of empire, famous now for broken people who use drugs and alcohol to make sense of life.

What do the tourists think of us all? There seems to be no shortage of people willing to pay large sums of money to make their fake voyages with everything thrown in. Voyages that are not journeys, but capsules of disconnection that arrive nowhere.

But I should not cast stones- I live in a glass house after all.

Changes are afoot. Politically, economically, environmentally. History tells us that at times of economic downturn some people prosper. They take cruises. Other people are broken. They become the scapegoats.

History also warns us of the rise of hate politics – the lurch to the right, and the polarising embattlement of the left. In England we already see the rise of the UK Independence Party– whose politics seem to have been created by a tabloid reading taxi driver. It is all the fault of the immigrants, the benefits scroungers, the gay marriages- and those bloody Europeans of course.

Except it is not. It is all our fault- and what we (and our children) become will be determined by the choices we make. Do we scrabble for the kind of me-first security of the rich on a sinking ship?

Or do we really seek to live differently? This is really nothing to do with whether we take cruises or not, but rather whether the journeys we make are more than just empty circles back to ourselves.

I pray for journeys that seek connection, openness, understanding. Journeys that are not about me as much as they are about you. Journeys that are not celebrations of what I have, what I can afford, but rather become something called pilgrimage.

And lest I continue to sound too earnest, too smug- we all have the same challenges. Stuff always gets in the way…

 

Smiles…

Aoradh profiles

 

Smile

 

There is no muscle wasted

In your wrinkled face

No line uncurled

 

There is no shadow cast by

Tomorrows waiting growth

Each hair a whisker, quivered

 

No sharp fang

In your pearly-whites

Lit up by our laughter

 

There is no moment

More than this

When here we are, smiling

 

 

 

 

Aoradh Pentecost bonfire, 2013…

Jar of peace

We have just spent a lovely afternoon at our annual Pentecost Bonfire out at Ardentinny beach.

Every year we gather to mark the birthday of church, sharing food then some worship. Today Michaela and Pauline had planned a series of activities around the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5.) The Spirit sent as our helper, our guide- a kind of warmth in the middle of us…

For Love, we used footprints, signifying a step towards the other

For Joy, we used a canvas splashed with exuberant colours

For Peace, we sat in silence listening to the gentle waves, then opened a jar to scoop it all in, and put the lid on

For Patience, we found ourselves a stick to signify sticking with someone or something

For Kindness, we took a smoothed pebble to signify being smoothed and shaped by one another

For Goodness, we passed round a bag of tasks- things that would help us see the good in others

For Faithfulness, we remembered that we had long term committments to one another, and so we wrote on our pebbles the words from Ruth- “Your God is my God”, and passed the pebbles to another

For Gentleness, we reminded ourselves that we did not need to force our way in life, and spent 5 mins walking alone

For Self control, we reminded ourselves that we needed to direct our energies wisely, and so we wrote on ribb0ns, which we intended to fly from the tail of a kite, but the wind was light so, we just decided to take them home.

It was lovely.

We do not usually use music outdoors – there is so much music in the waves after all – but this time Michaela used her little Mp3 dock to play songs- and the simplicity of music, companionship, the beach and an open fire (even with fickle eye stinging smoke) made for a time of deep peace.

All church services should be like this…

Paint

'Church@ gathers

Andrew upside down

incense/pews

 

DSM-5; step into the straight-jacket…

DSM-5

 

It is out today.

Back in February, I wrote a long piece reflecting on a number of issues thrown up by the new American Psychiatric Association edition of the Dignostic and Statistical Manual of Psychiatric Disorders. I confessed to considerable skepticism and concerns into the way this hugely dominant document had been drafted. Here is some of what I said

 It matters on an individual level because all of us will be affected by mental disorder. One in four of us will be diagnosed according to one of the classifications above, so even if this is not you it will be someone you love or someone you work with. Lots of us feel a strange relief when distress is given a name – it suggests understanding, companionship, a removal of uncertainty and the possibility of treatment. However, for many these can easily become self perpetuating and destructive as they have the effect removing responsibility, ownership and eventually hope of recovery, which some never find again.

It matters too on a sociological level. Our societies are increasingly regulated by psychiatry. We medicalise, medicate and plan ‘evidence based interventions’ into all sorts of human variation. This may simply amount to the application of science and knowledge to the alleviation of mental illness, but the question is whether this is ‘healthy’? Are we seeking to make a world in which the mess and gristle of life is edited out, tidied away, chemically suppressed? And is it working?

Psychiatric classification almost always demands treatment, so step forward the drug companies, with another product to push by fair means or foul. All those countless drug rep funded lunches, gadgets, even holidays, in the name of publicity for the next wonder drug. Even if the drugs do half of what they promise there is no doubt that our population is increasingly medicated.

At the time I wrote a list of what I hoped might form the new direction within mental health care- which I am convinced will be looked back on by future generations with shame and anger;

Away from ‘illness’ towards ‘distress’

Away from ‘symptoms’ towards understanding that we develop different  means of coping with this distress.

Away from restrictive labels towards listening to individual experience.

Away from medicalised interventions, towards encouragement and support of individual recovery.

Away from simplistic distinctions between ‘psychosis’ and ‘neurosis’ towards a greater interest and understanding of the effect of trauma.

Away from segregation and ‘otherness’ towards seeing mental distress as an essential part of the human experience and as such, part of all of our experiences.

Away from ‘maintenance’ towards hope and acceptance.

I was not expecting quite so much public and professional resistance to DSM5- even to the point of questioning anew the core concepts of ‘mental illness’. This from here;

Critics claim that the American Psychiatric Association’s increasingly voluminous manual will see millions of people unnecessarily categorised as having psychiatric disorders. For example, shyness in children, temper tantrums and depression following the death of a loved one could become medical problems, treatable with drugs. So could internet addiction.

Inevitably such claims have given ammunition to psychiatry’s critics, who believe that many of the conditions are simply inventions dreamed up for the benefit of pharmaceutical giants.

A disturbing picture emerges of mutual vested interests, of a psychiatric industry in cahoots with big pharma. As the writer, Jon Ronson, only half-joked in a recent TED talk: “Is it possible that the psychiatric profession has a strong desire to label things that are essential human behaviour as a disorder?”

Psychiatry’s supporters retort that such suggestions are clumsy, misguided and unhelpful, and complain that the much-hyped publication of the manual has become an excuse to reheat tired arguments to attack their profession.

But even psychiatry’s defenders acknowledge that the manual has its problems. Allen Frances, a professor of psychiatry and the chair of the DSM-4 committee, used his blog to attack the production of the new manual as “secretive, closed and sloppy”, and claimed that it “includes new diagnoses and reductions in thresholds for old ones that expand the already stretched boundaries of psychiatry and threaten to turn diagnostic inflation into hyperinflation”.

Others in the mental health field have gone even further in their criticism. Thomas R Insel, director of the National Institute of Mental Health, the American government’s leading agency on mental illness research and prevention, recently attacked the manual’s “validity”.

And now, in a significant new attack, the very nature of disorders identified by psychiatry has been thrown into question. In an unprecedented move for a professional body, the Division of Clinical Psychology (DCP), which represents more than 10,000 practitioners and is part of the distinguished British Psychological Society, will tomorrow publish a statement calling for the abandonment of psychiatric diagnosis and the development of alternatives which do not use the language of “illness” or “disorder”.

The statement claims: “Psychiatric diagnosis is often presented as an objective statement of fact, but is, in essence, a clinical judgment based on observation and interpretation of behaviour and self-report, and thus subject to variation and bias.”

All this comes starkly to light when we hear the voices of experience;

“Strange though it may sound, you do not need a diagnosis to treat people with mental health problems,” said Dr Lucy Johnstone, a consultant clinical psychologist who helped to draw up the DCP’s statement.

“We are not denying that these people are very distressed and in need of help. However, there is no evidence that these experiences are best understood as illnesses with biological causes. On the contrary, there is now overwhelming evidence that people break down as a result of a complex mix of social and psychological circumstances – bereavement and loss, poverty and discrimination, trauma and abuse.”

Eleanor Longden, who hears voices and was told she was a schizophrenic who would be better off having cancer as “it would be easier to cure”, explains that her breakthrough came after a meeting with a psychiatrist who asked her to tell him a bit about herself. In a paper for the academic journal, Psychosis, Longden recalled: “I just looked at him and said ‘I’m Eleanor, and I’m a schizophrenic’.”

Longden writes: “And in his quiet, Irish voice he said something very powerful, ‘I don’t want to know what other people have told you about yourself, I want to know about you.’

“It was the first time that I had been given the chance to see myself as a person with a life story, not as a genetically determined schizophrenic with aberrant brain chemicals and biological flaws and deficiencies that were beyond my power to heal.”

Longden, who is pursuing a career in academia and is now a campaigner against diagnosis, views this conversation as a crucial first step in the healing process that took her off medication. “I am proud to be a voice-hearer,” she writes. “It is an incredibly special and unique experience.”

In the 1960’s the liberation battles were about race, the 1970’s gender, the 1980’s sexuality. The 1990’s we began to think we had sorted it all out and in the 2000’s we discovered that perhaps we had not.

This decade, let us take on the oppressive machine that makes madness out of the variety of human distress.

A few more reflections on our wilderness retreat…

Looking down on our camp site

Regular readers of this blog will know that one of the things I really love to do is to immerse myself in wild places and for many years (along with some old friends) I have been taking time each year to make what we call ‘wilderness retreats’.  These usually involve camping on small uninhabited islands and following a deliberate rhythm of silence and community- with a lot of laughter in between.

Increasingly we have enjoyed being hosts and have been joined by friends, friends of friends and contacts from the assortment of church contacts and networks we are connected to.

This year, Crawford (a friend who has been coming for a few years now ans our go-to source for all things avian) described how it was usually only quite a while after we had left the island that its full impact was felt- almost as if we take a little of it away with us.

This year I felt very privileged to take some people who had never camped before and certainly never managed to get out to a wild west island. I always worry about the shock to the system that camping wild can be to those who have never done it before- particularly when (as happened this year) the weather is bad. It requires a methodical stoicism and can result in real lows as well as highs.

Half way through for example, I was convinced that my mate Graham was in some kind of stupour induced by wet waterproofs and fear of the poo-trowel. I would have taken odds on him chalking all of this camping in the wild stuff to experience and deciding that, if he were to survive, it was an experience he would never repeat.

Graham- "What have I done?"

Which just goes to show how wrong  I can be.

Graham is a blogger too, and his blog has had a series of reflections on the retreat- the last of which is here.  I loved this;

What I loved about retreat on that island was trying to discover a male spirituality that did not rely on dominance and aggression but had a measure of strength and vulnerability. It was ok to pray, share deeply, lose the mask of invulnerability and at the same time banter, fart, make toilet jokes, swear and build fires. Realising you are male, a Jesus follower and you don’t have to pretend/assume false piety is a very powerful thing.

I don’t claim to have discovered ‘a model’: there isn’t one, but the route of honesty is good for the journey…

It occured to me again that one of the most important spiritual disciplines is the attitude of vulnerability. We normally armour ourselves against this in a thousand ways, but in wilderness, on a tiny island, in silence, this armour falls away. For those like Graham who experience this for the first time, it falls with a loud clang.

There have been a couple of other lovely things that have been inspired by the retreat which I wanted to mention here- firstly Andrew wrote a lovely poem on his blog- which is here. A quick excerpt- but please go and read the whole thing;

Steel grey skies darken,
Hidden rock spires, deep depths, whirling, roaring tides and waves.
Wind and waves grow,
Deck lurching side to side,
Uncertainty,
Hope,
A rocky shore, but his plan, not ours.
Safe upon a new shore, an unknown glen, not known for generations passed.
Rocks, prayers,
The rough-hewn blackness sinking into waves,
Rocks, prayers,
Held, carried, prayed over
Are you there?
Finally, Andy- who has been a friend of mine for about 25 years, and a companion on many of these trips, wrote a song. More than that, he recorded the song, and made a video using clips and photos taken on quite a few of our trips- I recognised Scarba (x2) Jura, Coll, Eilleach an Naiomh, The McCormaigs and man more. It is quite lovely, and so here it is;

Today we cut down trees…

tree felling 1

….and I feels slightly sad.

Trees are creatures that seem in many ways senior to we fidgeting humans. They are older, more planted (ahem) still and silent. They provide shelter for a million lesser creatures in their wide spread generous embrace.

To plant a tree is to invest in the distant future- perhaps of our children’s children.

To cut down a tree means that we take a slice from our living history and discard it.

Having said all that, today we will fell 5 trees in our gardens. Trees in gardens always feel a little like ships in ponds. They might look nice, but really they need the open sea.

Two of them are non-native to Scotland. I have no prejudice towards aliens- I am that myself. These are great big awkward conifers that suck in the light that should ripen our vegetables. They are perhaps the youngest of the bunch- maybe thirty or forty years old.

The other three are odd shaped sticky sycamore trees- possibly self seeded around the edges of the garden, 60-70 years ago. Some of them have become unbalanced and diseased, and given the storm winds of late, we can no longer risk them falling on to our neighbors.

Sycamores are the mongrels of the tree world- they spring up like rabbits and scrabble for space with a lust for life that makes the more cultured pull in their roots in distaste. But the light of the sun on their bright spring leaves is lovely.

May they rest in peace.

The discussion has already begun as to what we might plant in their places…

tree felling 2