Blog

  • Elizabeth Jennings Week (I) Poetry and Friendship

    DSC00281Talking with a good friend after church about poetry – well, as you do, and why not? He was saying when he read poetry he often didn't understand what he read, but enjoyed reading poetry just the same. In our conversation I suggested perhaps sometimes poetry isn't meant to be understood, but rather, it helps us to understand – ourselves, the world, others, those perplexities and mysteries of the life we live. 

    In that remarkably evocative book, Mr God This is Anna, there's a definition of poetry that has always intrigued, and largely satisfied me: "Poetry is something made up of different bits that is different from all the bits." I too have come away from reading poetry with that strange intellectual and existential paradox – while I haven't understoood it, it would be quite wrong to say I was none the wiser. Because wisdom isn't only about knowing all the answers, or even knowing all the questions. Wisdom is to know the limits of the question and answer approach as the only way to understanding much that makes up our lives. Curiosity is its own justification; the inner search is not always the search for an answer. The quest for truth isn't so easily reduced to the limits of vocabulary. Poetry allows us to both think and feel, to search and only perhaps find, to question without being overanxious to fix, sort and nail down in words alone, those profound insights and experiences that like time and tide, climate and geology, give shape and character to our inner world.

    So it's important who we choose as companions on the road, whom we invite to be conversation partners, those voices that can be relied on not to let us off with shallow and superficial answers, or predictable and unsearching questions. Amongst the poets I have several such critical friends, and readers of this blog will guess most of them. R S Thomas; Emily Dickinson; George Herbert; Mary Oliver; Gerard Manley Hopkins: Robert Frost; Denise Levertov; Elizabeth Jennings; Carol Ann Duffy; Seamus Heaney. There are others of course, and in any case one of my favourite kinds of book is the poetry Anthology of which I have several which are now as familiar as any collected corpus.

    Elizabeth_jenningsBut this week I'm having an Elizabeth Jennings week on the blog. She is one from whose poetry I've learned amongst other things the importance of relationships in any spirituality that takes the divine and human intersections of our experience seriously. Here she is on friendship. And this one poem says why each special friendship is cause for celebration, gratitude and the glad recognition that such blessing is ours, undeserved gift, grace at its surprising best.

    FRIENDSHIP

    Such love I cannot analyse;
    It does not rest in lips or eyes,
    Neither in kisses nor caress.
    Partly, I know, it’s gentleness

    And understanding in one word
    Or in brief letters. It’s preserved
    By trust and by respect and awe.
    These are the words I’m feeling for.

    Two people, yes, two lasting friends.
    The giving comes, the taking ends
    There is no measure for such things.
    For this all Nature slows and sings.

     

  • Multum in Parvo (III) The priority of questions over answers

    Always we find ourselves at the divergence

    Of two paths travelling out.

    Otherwise, our questions

    Would already have been answered.

    ………………….

    Turning nightward in these domes

    Our shutters opening like secrets

    We set our silvered cups to catch

    The fine mist of light

    That settles from our chosen stars

    On the edge of the unanswerable

    Even here, our questions.

    ………………..

    Hs-2005-35-a-webThese are two samples of poetry written by a brilliant astrophysicist whose field of research was 'dark matter'. Rebecca Elson wrote as an agnostic whose religious scepticism was tempered by imagination, compassion and a visionary hopefulness for humanity and for a future worthy of the beauty and potential of a universe shot through with mystery.

    Reading her poetry and Journal entries is like encountering a 20th Century Qoheleth, questioning, enquiring, redolent of responsibility, capable of awe and wonder at the sheer intransigence of existence in the face of the human urge to mastery and comprehension.

    Reading her poetry is to have your too easily and carelessly held assumptions about faith and life interogated by someone who was an Isaac Newton scholar at Cambridge, and interpreter of the Hubble data, a Harvard researcher, and a poet whose precision with words had more to do with nuanced meaning than technical skill.

    Reading her poetry is like standing in a hot shower when someone turns on the tap downstairs and suddenly the water is freezing and there's no easy or quick escape from its jetted cold.

  • Accidentally praying – as if Someone meant it…

    Banner Top 2 - Plain 2

    Come Holy Spirit, Spirit of Love, Spirit of Discipline,

    In the silence

    Come to us and bring us your peace;

    Rest in us that we may be tranquil and still;

    Speak to us as each heart needs to hear;

    Reveal to us things hidden and things longed for;

    Rejoice in us that we may praise and be glad;

    Pray in us that we may be at one with you and with each other;

    Refresh and renew us from your living springs of water;

    Dwell in us now and always, Amen.

    The prayer is by Father Robert Llewelyn one of the accomplished recent interpreters of Julian of Norwich, and it's taken from his book With Pity Not with Blame. From a well stocked shelf of studies on Julian, this slim book remains a favourite, especially as a guide to ways of praying that have less to do with words and more to do with inner orientation; acknowledging Presence, practising stillness, listening with the heart, gazing with the eyes of imaginagtive faith, and learning the necessary tensions between the mind thinking, the heart feeling and the will responding.

    The other day I spoke with our College librarian, Dr Edward Burrows, about George Herbert and my fascination with three chosen people of genius – Julian, Herbert and Charles Wesley. Amongst their many gifts, I value their capacity to invest words with more than meaning, but with the power to communicate spiritual experiences with such penetrating integrity that they radically transform by sometimes evoking the very experiences they describe and expound. None of them use the idiom of contemporary-speak, and I guess it now requires an investment of time to learn their way with words, but to those who take the time, they may well discover the spiritual equivalent of treasure maps and the call to seek till they find.

    There are others in my canon of spiritual geniuses – but those three – Julian, Herbert and Wesley, touch on a form of spirituality that for all their diversity, carries with it what C S Lewis called the scent of the far country.

    As a matter of irrelevant coincidence (or unpremeditated purpose) I typed out the above prayer while listening to Albinoni's Adagio in G Major – and some of what the prayer asked just sort of happened, as if Someone meant it……

  • Multum in Parvo (II) The Importance of Books that are Hard to Read

    "The biblical witness to God's revelation

    leads to a response and participation in Christ.

    This means in turn that epistemology is insufficient without ontology,

    both in terms of the transformation of the believer,

    and ultimately of the whole created order,

    as the Incarnation makes knowledge of God

    an engagement with being itself."

    Anastasis_resurrectionThe words come from Karl barth and Hans Urs Von Balthasar, by Stephen Wigley. This is a rich and demanding study of the mutual respect and contested differences between two of the greatest theologians of the 20th Century.

    Listening to Radio 4 last night on the way down from Aberdeen, there was a discussion about the appointment of the new BBC Science Correspondent whose remit is to make the leading edges of scientific knowledge and discovery "accessible". There was considerable worry that accessible means dumbed down, and that to popularise is to distort by simplification to the point where knowledge itself is dangerously reduced and pre-packaged.

    The same holds for theology. By all means popularise, make accessible, eliminate needless jargon, be inclusive in writing, teaching and learning. But do not deprive key intellectual disciplines of the discourse needed for precision, necessary nuance, development of ideas, explorations of complexity and contested concepts. In other words, not all theology can or should be "accessible" if by that we expect to grasp, understand and integrate what we read on its first reading. If there are words we don't easily recognise, concepts that perplex and puzzle, sentence structures that force us to slow down, read again, and, bless us, think -then don't assume bad writing, or abstracted thought, or ideas under-developed or overworked. It may be that we are being educated, drawn out towards truth and insight beyond our comfort zones. Both Barth and Von Balthasar are such theologians, thinkers and intellectual mentors – if we have the patience and respect, to sit at their feet.

  • The Cloud of Unknowing and the Clouds We See Every Day.

    "I've never seen an ugly cloud."

    Driving home last night with a friend I haven't seen for 15 years, we were admiring the evening sky and sunset over Aberdeenshire. Blue pink occasionally smudged by dark gray as if a Chinese brush artist had randomly played with tinted paper to include a few contrasting shadows, long, thin one-stroke lines - not too dark, but warm gray and feathered at both ends as the brush was flicked up. The finished sky looked like a delicate watercolour, which would have been spoilt if it had been framed. Sunset 2

    At which point he said, "I've never seen an ugly cloud." What strikes me about that quite spontaneous observation was the affirmative worldview it revealed. That my friend is travelling a hard road just now made the words even more poignantly positive. There are moments of meaning when a chance remark gathers to itself a significance made up of coincidence of circumstances, emotional preparedness, shared memories and that profound mystery of heart reaching out to heart in agreement and thankfulness. That was such a moment.

    Since last night I've let those words dwell in those deep places where meaning slowly forms and understanding is never more than humble recognition that somehow love and life and laughter are definitive of human fellowship. I've thought often and sometimes thought long, about clouds. And I don't mean in the sentimental and fluffy sense of silver linings, and naive denials that clouds are somtimes harbingers of storm and can be ominous and well as beneficent. Yet William Cowper, that gentle 18th Century rural poet, whose courageous battle with depression and an oppressive predestinarian theology brought him often to breakdown, could still write words that were first penned for his own encouragement:

    Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

    The clouds ye so much dread,

    Are big with mercy and will break

    with blessings on thy head.

    At the other end of the spectrum of Christian spirituality the author of The Cloud of Unknowing, urged the Christian that you can apprehend God through the cloud of unknowing by love, but by thought, never. That cloud of unknowing represents the mystery and beauty of God, like Moses in Exodus, who drew near to the cloud of darkness, where God dwells. So much in our self-explanatory, information sated, google shaped omniscient culture makes it hard to appreciate, long for, be content with, contemplate with a proper sense of our own smallness, the mystery that lies at the heart of all existence.

    Perhaps the clouds are there to help us recognise the obscurity that limits our knowing, and to make us respectful of those opaque experiences and thoughts that tease and trouble, lure and disturb, attract and pull our minds and hearts towards that which is infinitely greater than even our most inspired imaginings. Out of such attentiveness and receptiveness, perhaps we will discover also, there are no ugly clouds.

    Or as another wise man wrote, "May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.  May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.  ~Edward Abbey

     

     

  • Morning mist, nuclear disarmament and trinitarian structures

    DSC00448

     

    Travelling down towards Laurenckirk on a frosty morning, the metal foliage called wind farms emerged from the mist. The gostly grey and filtered sunlight meant the occasional blade reflected the sun – I couldn't time the camera to capture that. I'm still pulled two ways about these massive mathematically precise intrusions onto a natural landscape. The argument about whether they are a viable or effective alternative is one others know more about. It's the aesthetics that perplex me. Are they a blot on the landscape or merely an updating of the pylon lines that criss cross some of our most attractive and sensitive landscapes? I've gotten used to them, but is that a de-sensitization that is mere tolerance of the inevitable and a concession to engineering ugliness as the solution to the energy problem?

    Up here of course wind farms are politically contentious. A certain billionaire rages against the loss of aesthtic beauty for the new golf course if these turbines are installed offshore in the line of vision of the privileged golfers who can affford to jet in to the proposed world class golf course.

    But whatever the outcome of our search for renewable energy, it seems that in my lifetime we'll have to get used to the sight of machinery that still looks otherworldly, and makes those who've read War of the Worlds a bit nervous.

    On another line entirely – I start the course on trinitarian theology next week, and these three bladed power sources, merging in the misty mystery of a Mearns  morning, are pictorial reminders of the significance in human thought and culture of threefoldness.

    They also remind me of the early Ban the Bomb logo which was a badge I wore proudly as a teenager – a wee while ago…..

  • Multum in parvo (I) Nicholas Lash on “What Christianity Is”

    DSC00209

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    This is the first of an occasional series. Sometimes a sentence or two says so much is needs to be taken with attentive slowness, even clause by clause, allowing it to build towards those moments of insight and recognition that open mind and heart to a richer apprehension of God, the world, ourselves and the infinite variations of those relationships that sustain our existence.

     The prose poem is often enhanced by being written as a form of blank or open verse. I did something like that in the previous post with A W Tozer and William Temple. And have done it before with theologians like Eberhard Jungel, Hans Urs Von Balthasar (I'm under a challenge to get that name included in a sermon without spooking a congregation !) and Kathryn Tanner.

    The book Believing Three ways in One God by Nicholas Lash is itself an example of multum in parvo. I've read it twice before and am reading it again – and interested in the pencilled margin notes from last time. The following passage on page 54 has Q in the margin – in JMG code that means quotable, quote it, don't forget it, this is good!

    What we call Christianity is supposed to be some kind of school

    the purpose of whose pedagogy

     is to foster the conditions  

    in which dependence might be relearned as friendship;

    conditions in which

    the comprehensive taming of chaos by loving order;

    of conflict by tranquility,

    of discord by harmony,

    might be instantiated and proclaimed.

    To use the Creed,

    to make its articles one's own,

    is, therefore,

    to be pledged in labour towards the 'kind of heaven and earth'

    in which our human work,

    might be the finite forms of God's.

    Oh yes!

     

     

  • What worship is, or can be.

    L3adora1The picture is from the centrepiece of the Ghent Altarpiece by Van Eyck. Based on Revelation 5 it depicts the central subversive paradox of the Lamb slain, adored, worshipped, and the centre of attention in heaven during the vision of John.

    Two prose poems follow describing worship. They sit near the front of a notebook I kept years ago, and they are now like theological tram-lines on which my own understanding of worship runs.

     

    The first recognises, as Tozer always does, that our knowledge of the Holy is both biblical and mystical, revelation and mystery, eternal and incarnate, humbling and affirming, transcendent and intimate.

    The second describes how worship is transformative of the personality, character and spirit of a human being so that all that is within us may bless His holy name.  

    What is worship?

    Worship is to feel in your heart

    and express in some appropriate manner

    a humbling but delightful sense of admiring awe

    and astonished wonder

    and overpowering love

    in the presence of that most ancient Mystery,

    that Majesty which philosophers call the First Cause,

    but which we call Our Father Which Are in Heaven. 

    A W Tozer

     

    For worship is the submission of all our nature to God.

    It is the quickening of conscience by His holiness;

    the nourishment of mind with His truth;

    the purifying of imagination by His beauty;

    the opening of the heart to His love;

    the surrender of will to His purpose —

    and all of this gathered up in adoration,

    the most selfless emotion of which our nature is capable

    and therefore the chief remedy for that self-centredness

    which is our original sin

    and the source of all actual sin.

    Archbishop William Temple

  • When being fair is ungenerous, lacks compassion, is self interested and is thus unfair

    23_IDS_g_620You don't have to be an avid trawler of online news, or a TV News addict, or a close reader of newspapers, Tabloid or Broadsheet, to be aware of the ironies that are darting around in the political rhetoric and economic pontificating and partially informed opinionating these past few days.

    Let me begin with the word "fair". We all want a fairer society – that is an assumed given, stated with omniscient assurance by representatives of almost every political colour and position. Except each time it is repeated it sounds less like a moral given, and more like a vested interest mantra. Fairness is a matter of standpoint. Something is fair depending on which point I stand, my point of view. So even if fairness was an acceptable moral concept, it is such a subjectively loaded one that it isn't much use in social discourse, or discourse about society. 

    Now – do I want a fairer society? Think about it. What relation does fairness bear to mercy? "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy", seems a reasonable and fair deal. If you care for troubled and suffering people, you'll be cared for when you are in trouble or suffering. But I'm not sure Jesus meant such a radical quid pro quo – mercy is precisely not giving someone what they deserve, but what compassion demands.

    Do I want a fairer society? Well if everything is fair, then words like generosity and grudge become redundant because everyone gets what they get with no remainder. What is fair about giving a gift? What is fair about being given a gift? Where does generosity come on the spectrum of calculated entitlement we call fairness?

    Do I want a fairer society? Does that mean everyone gets treated the same? But what about the ludicrously obvious fact that we are not the same? Doesn't the sheer diversity of opportunity, natural giftedness, circumstances of birth, socio – economic starting point, genetic inheritance, the happenstance of life's experience mean that, to put it in tautological terms, we are each very unique?

    Do I want a fairer society? What does fairness look like for Stephen Lawrence's family. Justice isn't the same thing, though it is an essential aim of the moral and humane society. What was profoundly unfair, toxic and cruel was violence against a young man because of his colour. Justice does not put that right – it does however state the importance and uniqueness of each life, and the cost and consequence of violence, to victim and perpetrator. But the word fair is seen for what it is in this situation – facile and superficial. 

    Trout-fishing-tacticsWhich brings me to irony, the irony of elevating the word "fair" to the top of the political point scoring league. Yesterday we had Ian Duncan Smith promising he was not seeking to punish the poor by capping benefits. We had Vince Cable hand wringing about how to curb excessive board-room salaries, bonuses and other complex formulae for remunerative rip-offs. And various politicians speaking on my behalf as a taxpayer about what was and was not fair to me. It isn't fair that I work hard, earn money, pay taxers only to see these taxes fall into the benefits black hole. It isn't fair that I work hard, earn money and pay my taxes, and in a lifetime's work would not come close to earning a modest bank executive's annual package with bonuses.

    Three comments more. First – to use the phrase "punish the poor" whether to deny it or recommend it, is to use the vocabulary of a welfare state suffering a serious case of semantic amnesia; it is also to reveal an unacceptable lack of emotional intelligence and social awareness.

    Second to try to save some millions of pounds by capping benefits, while doing little of any real substance to curb excessive salaries and even less to deal with the problem of tax avoidance by the rich, is not only irony. It is a failure of nerve or perhaps more seriously, a deliberate evasion of moral principle by a coalition government surviving on expediency and compromise. These are not necessarily bad words, it depends what is compromised and to whom it is expedient.

    12899a559cb69bc6And finally, I do not think it is fair the way politicians are using the word fair to justify policies, which should require criteria that look beyond the limited horizons of mere fairness. The cost of caring for the vulnerable and the poor, the old and the sick, the disadvantaged and marginalised, should not simply be lumped together with the admittedly expensive problem of welfare benefit dependency, and the exploitation of the welfare system. To do so is not fair – and nothing is solved if you replace one unfairness with another.

    This is a ridiculously unfair question and I'm quite prepared to be laughed at for asking it – In the choice between capping benefits and curbing excessive salaries, what would Jesus do? I know – daft question. Fair enough! 

  • The Good Shepherd – but Without Sentimentality

    DSC00422Ever since farm days in Ayrshire I've regarded sheep with affection and interest. Jack Duncan was a good farmer – knowledgeable about the land, and careful and respectful of animals which he referred to as 'the beasts'. He was a keen if not great golfer who took a couple of clubs and some golf balls out into the fields on a summer night to practice and we got two shillings ( probably around £5 nowadays) each for retrieving them.

    It was on his farm that I first helped with sheep dip, sheep shearing and working the sheep with a dog. My father trained working dogs, always the border collie, and sold them to other farmers, some of them going abroad. Not many people know that! I still remember a spring night walking miles across the fields with Jack Duncan, the dog gathering the sheep, and Jack taking out one or two that were limping, examining their feet, cutting off the horn where foot rot was beginning to take hold, and putting ointment on.

    It's such experiences, listening to the peewits complaining loudly at our intrusion, and displaying the most stunning aerobatics as they dived and swerved towards us. These same memories are what makes the cry of the curlew the most poignant and powerful Scottish sound to my ears. I still can't hear that cry without a lump in my throat and a sense of gratitude that, for all that I might have missed brought up in the country miles from shops, I have a love and affinity with the woods and the fields and the hills, and all who live therein, that is part of who I am.

    FarmersJack Duncan's care for his 'beasts', (he's standing at the right in the photo taken when I was a boy!) and my father's reputation as a first rate dairyman who cared for the herd, mean that when I read Psalm 23, or John 10, I have no sentimentality at all about sheep and shepherds, or cows and byres (I helped muck them out at weekends!). It isn't sentimentality that sheep need – but watchful care, reliable provision, a safe environment and a knowledgeable shepherd. 

    The coloured photo above was taken on a walk to Drum Castle – the photo could be better, but the image of sheep sheltering under a massive conifer is biblical, pastoral and evokes memories for me of a boy wearing large wellingtons, a holy jersey, and stressed jeans long before they were made fashionable, chasing across fields after a sheepdog, taking seriously the welfare of sheep. And whatever else the Lord is my Shepherd might mean, it has to do in my mind with that welfare that comes looking for us, that protective wisdom that singles us out for care and healing, that watchful care that means there are indeed times of green pastures and still waters, dark valleys and tables spread. If the goodness and mercy that follow me all the days of my life are the perfect expression of Jack Duncan's humane husbandry, then without an overload of sentiment it is true to say 'I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me'. By the way, that one line contains an entire theology of divine – human encounter, the I that I am, encounters the Thou that God is.

    Psalm 23 is never quoted in the New Testament  but the pastoral image is recurrent, as Jesus described variously as the Good Shepherd, the Chief Shepherd and the Great Shepherd. I've read many a commentary on Psalm 23. It is such a richly textured, spiritually resonant text that echoes throughout the corridors and cathedrals of Western Christianity. The best reception history of this psalm is in the remarkably fine book, The Psalms in Christian Worship. A Historical Commentary. Bruce Waltke and James Houston (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010) pp. 416-445.

    But Jack Duncan remains in my mind and memory as the most persuasive existential commentary on the spiritual experience of being a sheep under the care of a good shepherd.