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Haiku and Holiday in Ireland 5: The Burren, the Faith and the Pub

Amongst my favourite books are those which don't have their edges trimmed. Instead of neat guillotined sides there is a roughly textured layering of paper sheets, not a concession to economy but an aesthetic delight that makes each page unique, and when lying on its side, gives the whole book a soft sense of happenstance, the binding together of different sheets into a finished whole that looks so right that any attempt to machine it into uniform neatness would be unthinkably crude.

Imagine then a large geological volume with sheets made of rock, miles long and wide, lying on its side with the edges facing the sea, grey and green in colour, and formed over millions of years. The layers are clearly differentiated but belong together, the geological pages lie flat one on another and their edges are untrimmed. And if you can imagine that, then you have some idea of what The Burren is. A massive geological structure and substructure that dominates northern County Clare. We visited it and walked on it, over it, alongside it by the sea. And looking at those places where it layered its way down to the sea was like standing beside a gigantic volume of natural history, created millions of years ago.

The Burren has some of the most diverse fauna in the world. Even the small area of seashore we explored displayed all kinds of small plants, flowers and grasses.

1.

Laid aeons ago,

Carboniferous limestone,

layered stone pages.

2.

Barren Burren rock,

diversity of flora –

fertile paradox.

We also visited a number of Irish pubs, and as well as the company and conversation, I took time to look at some of the pictures and writings on the pub walls. In several we saw fading photographs or pictures of three very different historical figures. I couldn't help sensing that the fading pictures were slow process reminders of a slow relinquishing, generation by generation, of the Catholic faith, the Christian tradition that has so defined the history, culture and spirituality of Ireland. There were often pictures of Jesus or Mary; sometimes a photo of JFK; and often images of John Paul II (and the present Benedict XVI) – but I was interested in the reluctance to remove the pictures of the Pope of the people. A long conversation with two Irish friends, over a wonderful meal and an afternoon of meandering, themselves no longer regularly practising their faith, but a tangible sense of loss, and anxiety that their grown up children, and their grandchildren would be very different people living in a historically changed Ireland, leached of the dynamic cultural colour that comes from shared religious belief.

Whatever theory of secularisation we buy into, and however we interpret the decline of Christian faith and belonging in Western Europe, there is something profoundly unsettling in living through a transition away from those values and convictions that have, like the Burren, been laid down over generations till they all but defined the human landscape. And the Church of Jesus Christ, in its varied traditions and expressions, is called now to exist in a place where familiar landscapes, known topography, cultural comfort zones and previous privilege are being swept away with the same ruthless thoroughness as those last glacial ice flows that stripped vegetation and topsoil from 1200 square kilometers of NW County Clare, leaving a more barren surface – but one where smallness, diversity and beauty could still flourish.

And maybe that is as good a metaphor as I can think of for the reinvention of the Christian community – flowers in rocky places, beauty surviving an ice-age environment, Christ-embodying community flourishing in a globalised world where human value, and humane values might otherwise perish in an inhospitable climate.

2 August 2010
Worship as our amazed yes to the love of God.

Two books being read in tandem provide important comment on worship as foundational to Christian existence, Christian practice and Christian experience. I deliberately put experience last – avoiding the too easy assumption that it is our personal experience that matters. Christian existence is not individual; Christian practice is not personal choice; and Christian experience cannot remain private however specific it is to our own personal circumstances. So N T Wright has an important comment in his book, Virtue Reborn:

"The life of worship is itself a corporate form of virtue. It expresses and in turn reinforces the faith, hope and love which are themselves the key Christian virtues. from this activity there flow all kinds of other things in terms of Christian life and witness. But worship is central, basic, and in the best sense habit-forming. Every serious Christian should work at having worship become second nature."

Worship is a "whole person vocation", according to Wright. And the essential lived relationship between worship, mission and the communal embodiment of the love of God is the core reality of Christian existence and God's good news for the world. And as often in recent years, I am left uneasy at the focus given to mission as the church's primary calling. The spring and source of the church's life, and its first calling, is glad, grateful, self-surrendering worship, expressed in a Christ-like obedience to the out-reaching and in-grasping love of God, an unembarrassed embracing of God's call on the church to be the Body of Christ, to embody the love of God, and to respond with an amazed yes. That amazed yes, that self surrender, that unembarrassed embrace of God's call, is the essential response of worship. And it is the energy source of mission.

Which is why there are probably important questions to be asked about contemporary worship styles, about the assumptions that drive our practices when we meet together, about the importance of customer satisfaction as a criterion for what we do, about the words we choose to sing, and yes, tedious as it may sound, about the theology that shapes all the above. Theology – our way of thinking about God – is betrayed in the how and the therefore of worship. If worship of God in Christ by the power of the Spirit is the energy source of mission, then I am left asking, how often have I been compelled to utter that amazed yes, how powerfully and persistently am I drawn to that act of glad self-surrender, how clearly and persuasively have I been called to that unembarrassed embrace of God's call to be as Christ to the world? Because if the God being worshiped is the God of all grace and love, the God revealed in Jesus, the God active in the church and the world through the Holy Spirit, then worship must surely be more than what we often take it to be. They are important criteria – arbitrary you might think – but as New Testament as they come. Amazed yes. Glad self-surrender. unembarrassed embrace.

31 July 2010
Haiku and Holidays in Ireland 4: The standing crosses of Kilfenora

The village of Kilfenora is famous for more than the filming of Father Ted during the mid 1990's. The name means Church of the Fertile Hillside, and within the ruined but covered nave there are several very fine carved stone crosses. Ireland is a land in which the geography and topography is littered with historical artefacts, and that history is demonstrably Celtic and Christian. Long before the sectarian divide which betrays the spiritual tragedy and the ethical paradox of Christians engaged in reciprocal hatred and mutual mistrust, and at times foments bloody violence in the name of God or land, long before that, there were deep traditions of faith, richly textured stories of Christian spirituality, mystical and mysterious figures whose lives were touched with fear and awe and a longing to draw near to God.

Amongst the landmark achievements of Celtic Christianity are the standing crosses, stone carved witnesses to the Gospel, centuries old reminders of a faith that is not easily erased, forgotten or ignored. And whatever else our postmodern hunger for relevance and meaning might question, these stone crosses silently bear testimony to a faith that can survive questions because our deepest human answers fall short of its own eternal realities. Creation, incarnation, atonement, resurrection; Father, Son and Spirit; sin, forgiveness, reconciliation; church, sacrament, service; peace, justice, joy; faith, love and hope. So standing for a while gazing at these larger than life stone crosses, I felt I was incorporated into something vaster than my personal experience of God, immensely wider than my own denominational tradition, defiant of all theology that makes claims of certainty locked into human words, and deeply rooted in a faithful history of dicipleship that our postmodern impatience might fail to understand, and again pay the price.

Ancient celtic cross,

silent witness to Love, carved

in grey weathered stone.

30 July 2010
Haiku and Holidays in Ireland 3: The Burren and the Drystone Dykes

The Burren is a remarkable slab cake of layered rock that dominates the north west corner of County Clare. We drove round it and through it, walked on it and over it, and meandered at its edges where it meets the Atlantic Ocean. Sheila captured some of the flowers in the rocks on the camera – more of these the morn.

One of the features of the landscape we saw is the dry stone dykes and walls. I've always wondered at the skill, precision, and artistic flair of the dyke builder. All shapes and sizes of stone, worked and cut to fit into a straight, stable length of wall, and without the use of cement or mortar. So walls are built, statements of separation, dividing lines of ownership or rights, symbols of ownership and its boundaries.

When I was a boy I used to accompany old Jimmy Welsh, (not the artist in stone shown in the photo), the tractorman and dyker at one of the farms where I grew up. Every summer he repaired the drystane dykes around the fields, and once built a new dyke alongside our farm cottage. I was his helper as a 7 or 8 year old. Never learned his skill, but have since seen the dyke years later, standing neatly, straight and testimony to a skill I hope we never quite lose from our countryside.

Looking at these in Ireland, I couldn't avoid the Robert Frost poem, with its line, "something there is that doesn't love a wall – that wants it down."And I was left with those mixed emotions admiring the skill and beauty of a well built drystone dyke or wall, and realising its function, to keep out, or to keep in. So I wrote a couple of Haiku – not to make any particular point. Just to note that there are important points that walls make.

1.

Hand built drystone walls;

mortarless human constructs,

neat, strong, exclusive.

2.

Hand built drystone walls;

mortarless human constructs,

neat, strong, inclusive.

3.

Hand built drystone walls;

low enough for shaking hands,

and conversation.

29 July 2010
Haiku and Holiday in Ireland: 2 Cliffs of Moher

Sometimes we have to see what we see from the perspective of danger. The Cliffs of Moher are dangerous, and by accident or intent, have claimed many lives over the centuries. So there are walls and fences, and signs warning of danger, prohibiting passage, spelling out the consequences of risk taking. And I know about the health and safety imperatrive – risk assessments and policies and strategies to help people stay healthy and safe.

But these cliffs are not only to be seen – they need to be felt, their long argument with the sea heard, their wind carved faces seen as the indomitable expression of defiance. To look over the edge, to sense your own smallness, to feel the wind pushing and shoving, to make the mental calculation of height and drop from cliff top to rocks or sea – that too is part of the impact of these cliffs. Still. We sensibly viewed them from safety – and we saw them, and felt something of them. But not their utter thereness; not the seductive pull to the edge to really see and fear; and not that humbling awareness that these storm sculptured walls, towering out of the waves, were there before us and will be there after us.

You can take photographs. You can listen to the crashing waves. You can gaze for ages at the long held lines of the Cliffs of Moher which for incalculably longer ages have held back the sea. And still there is a surplus of significance, an awareness that this is a place where our humanity is reaffirmed, paradoxically, because it is a place where our transient living fragility is contrasted with these aeons old petrified rock fortresses.

28 July 2010
Haiku and Holiday in Ireland 1. Joyce Country and Connemara

Last week we were in County Clare, over in Ireland, visiting family and having our first visit and sighteseeing trip to the Eire. The flight from Edinburgh to Shannon was ridiculously fast at under an hour – but still long enough time to wonder if the Ryanair cabin crew were taking the mickey trying to sell smokeless cigarettes! While there I had a go at some Haiku, trying to condense richly varied experiences into 17 syllables. As a piece of indulgence because I am still on holiday I'm going to inflict some holiday photographs and several Haiku on unsuspecting, and even suspicious visitors.

Recently been listening to Chris De Burgh. Used to have several vinyl albums and never replaced them with CDs. One of his best love songs is Connemara Coast, which I've listened to a lot recently. The love for the country and his woman are both celebrations of beauty that needn't negotiate a surrender – the heart is won.

We spent a brilliantly sunlit day going up through Connemara and Joyce Country as far as Kylemore Abbbey (pictured) – a round journey of 270 kilometres. The scenery through the mountains and valleys was as wild, rugged, inspiring and beautiful as the west coast of Scotland. I still enjoy the freedom and the joy of driving through country that is there to be admired, and especially if the scenery is so attractive it becomes a matter of responsible citizenship to stop rather than drive on while distracted by such unabashed natural beauty. Oh, and I promised to mention Joyce's Craft Shop up in a place called Recess – because I'd asked the proprietor how I could get a piece of uncut Connemora marble for a friend, and he raked around a barrel over in a corner, found a lovely wee piece and told me to take it back to Scotland for nothing, and tell everyone that though Ireland is skint it's folk are still generous. Absolutely so.

Here are two Haiku written out of sheer pleasure taken in looking at scenery that was breathtaking. Cliche? Yes, but a cliche is a description that though used often is sometimes used quite precisely. That's how I'm using it

Inagh valley

Grey green pyramids,

landscaped stone, embroidered trees,

mirrored, framed with sky.

Sphagnum moss, gnarled trees,

ancient sky-reflecting lough,

green and blue at peace

The first describes a beautiful land; the second does the same, and quietly suggests a better harmony of colours than the history of Ireland, and our own West of Scotland, have often afforded. Sky and water, grass, trees and moss – the light and life of nature knows nothing of sectarian colour codes. This was a peace full day.

27 July 2010
Formula One Racing, Human Values and the Black Hole in Sporting Ethics.

I don't watch Formula 1 racing. Watching around 20 high octane, high performance, super turbo charged, high speed, precisely engineered, aggression driven egos, is not my idea of a relaxing, exciting, or even interesting Sunday afternoons. Quite apart from the environmental and eco-unfriendly consequences for the planet. What's the carbon footprint for one of these races anyway?

But yesterday while enduring a few minutes of the German Grand Prix, I became aware (again) of the ethical black hole that is contemporary multi-billion professional sport. Two cars from the same team are in front. We hear the radio instruction / information to the first placed driver that his team mate in second has the faster car, and incidentally has the best chance of the two of challenging for the championship. Note the ambiguity – information / instruction. There is no doubt whatsoever (as the post race judgement confirms) that the rules were broken and Ferrari were cheating.

But then we were treated to the moral wisdom of Michael Schumacher saying he would do the same. The only reason for being there is to win and you do all you can to win. Including cheating. Other ex-drivers also upheld win any way you can as the prime moral imperative. Eddie Jordan who knows the business inside out, was incensed. And how refreshing to hear unambiguous anger at blatant cheating being passed off as legitimate tactic! In 2006 Schumacher's own benefiting from exactly the same scenario caused the new rules to be written. That these rules clearly prohibit instructions from management to drivers to concede position in the interests of the team, are supposed to preserve the integrity of the race.

What was obvious yesterday was that there is a dark side to integrity, an anti-ethic, a moral obligation to ignore the ethical and regulatory framework that defines the parameters of the sport. Cheating isn't bad; it is to be redefined as hunger for winning, loyalty to the team, commitment that is absolute, not to upholding the virtues of the sport, but to being first even if it requires the negation of all sportsmanship. Thus a new virtue displaces all the other virtues and values that make sport as spectacle and genuine human activity meaningful. And the judgement of a £100,000 fine imposed on Ferrari is the equivalent of a premier league footballer on £100,000 per week having to pay a fine of £1000 for moving the goalposts or breaking an opponents leg – thereby nobly upholding the moral imperative to win any way you can.

And what about the savage erosion of the fundamental sporting ethic of excellence, fairness, honesty, admiration for achievement and genuine endeavour? If win any way you can were universalised as an ethic what would that do to business and the markets – well, we know the answer to that. Or apply such egotistic nonsense to community life, the fabric of social relationships, international and foreign policy, and the world becomes a bleak, unstructured free for all. In an age of globalised technology, instant and pervasive viewing of high profile sporting events, and an idolatry of power, competition, and mega-scale corporate interests, the moral imperative of win any way you can, rapidly corrodes virtues and dispositions essential to human community. Professional sport fueled by greed driven lust for victory, then becomes a social menace, a shop windowing of unprincipled egos, an arena in which we display not what is good, humanising and life-enhancing, but the very patterns of behaviour that if universalised would consign us to a world where goodness, truth and beauty take their place in the lower league places of human aspiration.

The picture shows Alonso contemplating his recked car. He was the one given the drive through yesterday. Wonder if the same picture doubles as Alonso contemplating the wrecked image of a sport whose moral engine has blown, and whose ethical wheels are smashed beyond repair.

The latest news on all this can be read here.

26 July 2010
A Week of Heschel: Sunday

God is not an hypothesis derived from logical assumptions, but an immediate insight,

self evident as light.

He is not something to be sought in the darkness with the light of reason.

He is the light.

A J Heschel, Man is not Alone, page 75

25 July 2010
A Week of A J Heschel: Saturday

Surely God will always receive a surprise of a handful of fools –

who do not fail.

There will always remain a spiritual underground

where a few brave minds continue to fight.

Yet our concern is not how to worship in the catacombs

but rather how to remain human in the skyscrapers.

A J Heschel, Insecurity of Freedom, page 23.

24 July 2010
Disappearing comments – an apology and explanation.

There are currently a number of problems relating to comments disappearing which Typepad are currently trying to fix. If you left a comment in the past week or so and it hasn't appeared, then something in the software has eaten it! Apologies for this, and also from Typepad who are trying to sort it.

There is also a problem with the edit function which means I am currently stuck with this font and size. Sorry for all of this. I'm hoping it will be resolved soon. Chris and Geoff and Catriona – your comments are amongst the recent casualites. If you still want them posted, then please resend them and I'll get them up. The problem arises when I want to delete spam – it seems deleting one knocks out other approved comments.

Will let you know when it is fixed. Meantime keep commenting and I will simply stop deleting anything till the problem is resolved by the very good team at Typepad. That ain't flattery – they are very good.

24 July 2010