Living Wittily

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  • Moments of grace, and how to spot them!

    Rublev Several moments of grace recently. Not the holy, theological, prevenient, or sovereign kind. but definitely the saving kind. Here's two of them.

    In Dobbies for a scone and a latte – a frequent sacrament of friendship with Sheila. On this occasion we had one scone broken between two so yes, a sacrament. At Dobbies you take your tray, choose your scone and butter and jam. Then you can bypass the cooked breakfast queue and head straiight for the coffee makers.

    As I begin walking the 20 yards to the coffee place, alongside me two women, mother and daughter. She eyes me, I eye her, she walks faster, so do I. Moral and pastoral question. Do I sprint and beat her to it, or do I slow down and let her "win". Being the last word in repartee I said, On you go". She grinned and said,"Thanks. I'd have beat you anyway." Much laughter. She ordered, I ordered, and my coffee provider worked faster so I got to the till first. Who won? Who cares? We both did.

    Having a bad day. We all have them, and I had just had one. All kinds of reasons and none of them really fixable in any quick way. You know the kind of day when you would feel more negative about things if only you had the energy. So as it is, and as you can only carry so much excess baggage, you give up  your aspirations to feeling negative+, and just settle for being, well, negative. And then a friend intervenes. Conversation, coffee, company, affirmation. And by the end of the day you are in that place in Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, just moving from the thunderstorm to the peasant's thanksgiving and dancing, and the gentle persistent intervention of that beautiful melodic movement I never hear without thinking of all the good things that make it possible for us to look again and be surprised at how good life is. And all that negativity is discharged like lightning and earthed harmlessly, and the sun shines again. Well, that was yesterday.

    Grace is undeserved favour.

    Grace is the gift we never asked for, looked for or worked for.

    Grace is beautiful and makes beautiful.

    Grace looks you in the eye and says you matter, no matter what.

    Grace is two people with scones on trays inadvertently inventing a new sports event, the scone and tray race.

    Grace is the presence of those people who are like sunshine pushing through clouds, and inviting us to dance. 

    And yes, grace is what God is about, always and ever.

    And we often encounter that grace in the faces, and at the hands, of others who love us with the friendship of God.

    The Rublev Icon above is there because it is in my view one of the greatest Christian images of grace as loving welcome and attentive hospitality.

  • A Sunrise of Wonder Over Stonehaven, and the Blessings of Each New Day

    Now and then I wish the car rear view mirror was a camera. Not because of the irresponsible tail-gaters, and not to watch the car I just ovetook vanish in the distance, humiliated because overtaken by an elderly Corsa with a mileage that would take it round the world 3 and 3 quarter times. No. I want a rear-view camera not to glower or gloat, but to glory in the beautiful artwork of God.

    Sunrise This morning, around 5.15 am, driving round the sweeping corner towards Stonehaven, the sun in the space of several seconds, drew a brilliant fine line on the horizon using a fine-point silver and gold pen borrowed from a generous Creator. Just where sky and North Sea meet, the line became stronger in colour, broader in reflected brilliance. That was the rear view. In front of me a sky that was blue, long broad brushed clouds that were contrasting grey softened by projected, but out of place pink, except that it didn't seem at all out of place – it was beautifully apt, mixed on the palette of an expert in light, who knew how to suffuse greyness with glory, and how to draw a new day's dawn with pencil line precision.

    And today at College I read some of that beautiful, wise book by the late Michael Mayne, This Sunrise of Wonder. The title comes from words of G K Chesterton, quoted on page 7:

    At the back of our brains, so to speak, there is a forgotten blaze or burst of astonishment at our own existence. The object of the artistic and spiritual life is to dig for this sunrise of wonder.

    Now and then broad brush grey clouds all but cover our sky. Reflected glory, grey suffused with hope, this sunrise of wonder – this masterpiece of embroidered light and shadow, pink and gold and grey and blue, is God's intimation that as sure as day follows day, so new every morning are the blessings of God.   .

  • Broadband, Aberdeen and Shortbread….

    After 5 weeks of intermittent posting, when Living Wittily has had its longest interruptions by far, I have discovered our new postman has beautiful feet. He brings good news. My start up pack for Broadband has glided through the letterbox, with the proclamation that we will be online again on April 30 – a mere 43 days after going offline at our last home. Now I'm a patient person give or take a few rants; and I am an understanding customer, provided there is a service to be satisfied with; and I have tried so hard not act as if the whole universe depended on each entity having uninterrupted access to the internet. But 43 days, when staying with the same provider, and expecting to be able to work from home – a home into which we moved on March 24, so it will be 37 days without online facility.

    But I'm back regularly from May 1, allowing for a day or two to sort out any glitches, technophobic panics, computer hang-ups. Meantime thanks to those who left comments that had to wait till I could go online to moderate them. Margaret asked about perichoretic relationships – that will get its own post later.

    Now started the new weekly regime of days at College and days in Westhill, Aberdeen. Travelling is now part of what I do – so I'm looking for ways to make time in the car more than a mere hiatus. Music, Radio 4, – haven't started talking books yet – not sure that's for me but willing to try. And strap line spotting. Lorries, vans, bill-boards, all displaying clever and not so clever strap lines. Might decide to do a strap line of the week. Followed a large lorry carrying shortbread. How many shortbread fingers on a 30 foot truck? And each one around 200 calories? The back of it had this image of golden crumbly butter enriched shortbread. Made to the recipe of Helen Deans, this family has been making shortbread for two generations. The strap line: "History in the baking", written just under this six foot image of a crumbly, butter shortbread finger. I followed it for a while wishing I'd brought a packet……


  • Friendship and Prayer; when the global becomes local, and the international becomes personal.

    Funny how the global becomes local, and the international becomes personal, and major crisis for millions is felt at the level of individuals. Almost everyone in Western Europe is now likely to find that they, or someone important in their lives, is stranded abroad, and as of today with no clear idea of when they will be able to come home. Ease and safety of travel has become such an integral part of what we take for granted as normality, that this past week has created a new level of awareness of just how vulnerable technology is to the elemental physical forces that drive and shape our planet.

    Easy now to slip into apocalyptic scenarion; but just as easy to assume that once the direction of the wind changes the situation will revert to normal. Somewhere between apocalyptic meltdown and complacent unconcern is the harder reality of having created a world dependent on air flight, air freight and air defence systems. And for the first time total shut-down has simply negated that assumption. The unprecedented now has precedent. In a world where risk assessment, risk management and rehearsed emergency scenarios have become standard activities of corporate bodies, it seems this particular combination of circumstances escaped the risk assessors and the Hollywood script writers.

    I'm not sure what to make of all this. But I do have friends stranded abroad; and I am only too aware of how little can be done to help them from a distance other than support by text, phone and email. And it is when the global becomes personal that the issues of life on our planet become much more persuasively focused, and the unyielding limits of our can do confidence are exposed.

    Meantime our politicians are out electioneering. I may have missed it, but has there been any statement from our Government about what it will do to help our citizens who are stranded abroad. Governments can't fix volcanoes or change wind directions, but it's an interesting question whether a forthcoming election is more important than one of the most significant natural disasters to impact on our country for a very long time. We don't have a Parliament or cabinet sitting in emergency session – but we do have election battle-buses, road trips and hustings tours. Am I being unreasonable, or is there a lost perspective, a wilful blindness to the real world beyond the horizons of politicians and Govenrment ministers and officials.

    For millions of people in this country, who wins the political leaders' TV Debate is less important than what is currently happening to members of our family and our friends, and what our Government has to offer by way of help, support and credible response to a world where party politics is an irrelevance. Volcanoes are not influenced by rhetoric.

    Intercessory prayer in churches this weekend should be the longest part of the service. Earthquake in China, major disruption across Europe, the mourning of Poland, – and these are just this week's news. Across the world, their are situations of human suffering and loss of which we seldom hear, or which come to our attention and disappear under the constant pressure of the next story. And whatever else intercessory prayer is, it is the holding of a God-loved world before God, and a willingness to reach out in that same love for the healing, the wholeness and the blessing of that world – in whatever ways we can, and where we can't, in supplication to the Father of mercies.

  • Administration, preparation, re-organisation and the joys of tapestry

    Beautiful sunny day here in Aberdeen. Morning spent answering emails, writing a couple of admin things what need to be wrote, and reading in preparation for next week's teaching. Also perused a mass of documents relating to stuff I'm doing next week – I do sometimes wonder just how much documentation is needed to establish a new course, and how that compares with how much is required to wear out a shredding machine. I know! My mood of skeptical impatience is not helpful.

    It's been a mixed week of two days of meeting, course preparation and marking, rearrangements of books already arranged and rearranged, and in between in my leisure time I have cut swathes of organised space out ofa garage that was filled with all the stuff we didn't know what to do with under the immediate pressure of making sure the beds were up, the kettle was available, the painting was done for the carpet-fitters,  – oh, and the cold water tap on the bath was still secure…….

    Speaking of leisure. The tapestry of the redstart is finished and I think it works. I'll scan it one of these days before it's framed, but I've enjoyed playing again with colour and texture, of wool, cotton and canvas. I am also now well on with the Celtic Cross but I think it is going to grow into a bigger piece of work – it is also free-hand, and I've seen some of the most stunningly dyed wool from Uruguay in a local shop, and I want to use it. The ideas aren't settled yet but I know what I want to try to do – just don't know yet how! Amongst the theological hints I am trying to weave into this is a trinitarian theme and an expression of perichoretic interrelationships. I know. Nothing if not ambitious, but why shouldn't symbol, colour, shape and pattern work on canvas as well as icon wood or oil canvas?

    Off to read the next chapter of the new Bonhoeffer biography – in the sun, shaded, and with a large pot of earl gray tea. .  .

  • General Election, Serving God wittily, and the tangle of our minds

    The title of this blog and the prescript in the title bar are borrowed and adapted from one of the scenes in Robert Bolt's play, A Man for All Seasons. In the life of Sir Thomas More, statesman with a conscience, civil servant par excellence, scholarly saint, theological policeman, astutely naive politician, one of the most turbulent and dangerous times was played out to its tragic end. Interpretations of More's life, character, motives and significance are varied, controversial, and usually depend on where the interpreter stands – Catholic or Protestant, traditionalist or revisionist, political realist or political idealist.

    Yesterday I read A Man for All Seasons again. And over Christmas I read Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, which is more about Thomas Cromwell than Thomas More. But which exudes the same atmosphere of power, political menace, oppressive religious change, and a nation in the throes of transition from medieval to modern, and a church convulsed by cultural changes that would compel it to reconfigure its theology, its self understanding and eventually push it from the centre of power to the margins of cultural influence centuries later – now, in fact.

    What remains the same is the complexity of Christian obedience and the costliness of Christian witness when the affairs and interests of state collide with the convictions and mission of the Church. And in the weeks leading up to a General Election what became clear yesterday as I read again the story of Thomas More, is at least one telling similarity between post-modern 21st Century Britain and late Tudor England. And that is how hard it is to identify good people who can get the job done. Who in all the vaccous rhetoric of the hustings are we to give credence to? Which political figures speak words that are expressions of conviction, conscience and humane intelligence – by which I mean whose policies are about compassion for people, concern for the health of society, for whom economics are not based on ruthless self-interest, for whom human community is not party coloured?

    Whatever else Thomas More was, he was a man of conscience, "the person of the greatest virtue these islands ever produced", according to the opinionated wisdom of Samuel Johnson. And I am left asking, a little uncertainly, which of our political leaders are people of such conscience and conviction that they would risk all on maintaining personal integrity. More unsettling still – where in our modern political discourse does the idea, the concept, of conscience feature. What weight given to the inner experience of conscience as a crucial way of moral knowing, and as a voice that is allowed to share the conversation between reason, pragmatism and expediency?

    So here is More again: "God made the angels to show him splendour – as he made animals for innocence and plants for their simplicity. But Man he made to serve him wittily in the tangle of his mind!"

    Innocence, simplicity, splendour – not really the stuff of politics. Political territory is more about the tangle of our minds, complexity, compromise, expediency, manipulation, power-broking. And in all that, to discover what it means to serve God wittily, with subtle intelligence, with wise caution, with lateral thought, but with conscience and conviction as moral parameters. Thomas More wasn't always right in what he thought was right. His treatment of Tyndale was in the technical sense, a scandal – in the moral sense, outrageous. That too is the danger of acting according to conscience, when the conscience is educable, malleable and then given supreme authority in human action. True enough.

    But it is still the case that political activity, and the character of political acttivists and leaders, requires some public assurance of integrity, a clear statement of what is believed, articulated convictions about what they are about and what they would do with power. And whoever I vote for, questions of conscience, both mine and theirs, will go far in helping me decide – and that may not mean party lines at all. I will try to serve God wittily in the tangle of my mind!

  • Vocation, our life choices and the live performance of our discipleship…

    Been away for a few days and unable to log into the blog. Which is a pity given the number of genuinely pastoral comments, and theologically imaginative suggestions relating to my recent ana – ana- ana-baptist experience in our new bath room. They would have been a source of reassurance and comfort during a demanding couple of days of travel, meetings and being away from home comforts like a warm, uninterrupted bath!

    Sorry the comments couldn't be moderated till I returned, but they are now made public so that those whose pastoral credentials are unarguably dubious, and those whose pastoral style is theologically and biblically reflective may be identified 🙂

    More seriously, for the first time since our move I now have a number of weeks which will be fairly standard in terms of diary and commitments, giving me a chance to establish a new rhythm and balance in a different way of living out my vocation – which I've never identified wholly with the work I do. My marriage, family, friendships, intellectual and emotional life, building of home as place of welcome, participation in the Body of Christ, locally and ecumenically, are all part of that far too easily limited word "vocation".

    The call of God is occasionally not easy to discern – but usually it is pretty clear, and the issue isn't discernment, but obedience. And by that I don't mean compliance. Hard faced duty isn't half as hard as a smiling faced, grateful yes to what is presented to us as the life we are to live – its circumstances, the gifts of other people's presence, the opportunities to say yes and no which can both be response of glad obedience to the One we seek to follow.

    And yes – living with the choices we made in good faith and trust, and creating out of our responsive and responsible decisions, a life and work in which tension and tuning, practice and skill, self-knowledge and self-confidence, (and thus honesty and humility) enable us to perform before God the quite specific, indeed unique music of our own vocation. And since life is not a rehearsal (not always the daft cliche it sounds), what we are asked to do is perform our vocation as a Premiere, an unrehearsed, live, from scratch, one off performance. Just as well the grace of God pervades as well as peruses our performance – and that the Gracious God who is our primary audience knows the script far better than we do!



  • Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison – far reaching fragments of testimony.

    Book lovers, and theologians as book lovers, are prone to exaggerate. There's always some new benchmark publication, some indispensable volume, some publishing event of the decade. I do it myself. Lists of favourites, overstated reviews triggered by initial enthusiasm, positive appraisals of books that reflect our personal shopping list of theological essentials, selected books to be rescued in the event of fire – or a flood from an upstairs bath where the cold water tap has fallen to pieces…

    But the point of all this is to say I am looking forward to what for me will be one of the very few really significant publishing events of the decade. On August 1, 2010, Volume 8 of the English Works of Dietrich Bonhoeffer will be published, and I fully intend to plan several days in August around reading what is one of the most influential theological texts of the 20th Century. Bonhoeffer is one of the primary presences in my theological canon. As a Christian witness he remains definitive, enigmatic, complex, laden with integrity while weighed down also with controversy. And this volume of fragments, given unity mainly by the mind, heart and faith out of which they emerged, contains some of the most exciting and demanding theological statements ever written under real and intentional threat of life itself. 

    So a critical edition, with a full Introduction placing the Papers in their historical context, and in their relations to Bonhoeffer's other writings, is one of those greatly to be desired gifts that English speaking Bonhoeffer students with little facility in German, have prayed for and waited in vain. Till now. In these fragments Bonhoeffer explores his own mind and heart, probes at the sensitive core of his own faith, speaks with open heart about his loves and fears, the cost of being brave, the complexity and ambiguity of all attempts to be faithful to Christ in the midst of war, politicised evil, and a world convulsed with violence in the name of state, nation and conflicting visions of the human future.

    I wrote some weeks ago about the importance of primary sources in theology, and the relative importance of the secondary. This volume, and others in the series, is primary theology in two senses. It is Bonhoeffer, the distilled essence, and written in hearts blood. And second, it is theology articulated through the specific experience of one whose life focus and vocational certainty centred on Christ as the final and absolute authority. And whatever else Christian witness is, it is when a still young man faces death for his decisions as a Christian and as a man, and did so having written the uncompromising words that told the world, when Christ calls a man to follow him he says come and die.

    When I have my copy of this book, I will feel I have in my hands that rarest of gifts to the Christian heart – testimony to Christ, forged in suffering, glimpses elusive yet persuasive, of a soul triumphing by a grace that overpowers power, witnessing to what is true in the face of all that is false, living the costliness at the heart of all redemptive action, and enduring death while affirming the promise of life.

    .

  • The most stressful relaxation bath ever!

    Bought Radox Muscle Soak Salts with Rosemary Parfum, as you do.

    Running the bath with a generous couple of fistfuls of pale blue saline therapy.

    Standing au naturel ready to be immersed, a particularly Baptist liturgical act.

    The water temperature a bit hot so turn on the cold tap.

    A fountain of North East cold water hits the ceiling and sprays the au naturel Baptist with a bracing deluge of snow melt temperature water.

    The top of the cold tap has come loose and I try to push it back into the socket.

    Won't go – too much water pressure, and the bathroom is beginning to get seriously wet.

    Won't turn in the screw because I can't make up my mind whether it is a reverse screw to tighten or slacken – and by now I'm so spooked I turn it both ways without success.

    Prayer doesn't help despite a number of biblical stories about rain, floods, stormy seas and how prayer makes water behave.

    Yell for help. Lady of house finds the cold water supply turn off tap, but can't turn it off.

    By now the tap is back in and only thin jets of iced water are escaping – an iced face shower wasn't ordered.

    Change places and I hurtle downstairs turn off the water supply, run back upstairs and resume my finger in the wall approach to water control.

    At last, tank drained, and tap can be screwed back together. By which time I hate water – hot or cold, Radox doctored or plain.

    What started as relaxation therapy ended as emotional, mental, physical and spiritual trauma.

    Went back to the tapestry and to a world where order, precision, creativity, and the myth of me being in control can be restored.

    Question 1. What if I had been alone in the house with no one to stem the flow of water?

    Question 2. What use theology when you need a plumber?

    Question 3. What will happen when I try the tap for my next bath?

    Question 4. Why not stick with the shower……………..?

  • Tapestry and theology – well, nearly!

    Over the past week I have been working a tapestry I started a while ago and left in a desk drawer where I regularly came across it and always intended to finish it. I suppose the difficulty was knowing how to finish it. The design is entirely out of my head (don't do tapestry kits) – one of my favourite birds, the redstart, standing on a moss covered hillock against a sky at dusk. How do you capture a sky at dusk on stranded cotton thread, most often separated and mixed in a textile equivalent of pallette working, and the intricacies of colour, tone and shade on moss and heather, and the shape and proportion of a small bird, and all this using only a half-cross-stitch which is by definition a technique dependent on angles of mathematical precision, and on canvas with 20 to the inch guage? Easier to write and preach a sermon – sometimes.

    Well it's almost finished and I'm as satisfied as I've any right to be given the outrageous daftness of trying to do this in the first place. There is a Celtic cross on the other frame which is coming along more slowly, a form of contemplative activity that allows reflection on the meaning of symbol, colour and pattern as itself a form of theologising. Mind you, tapestry is also a good tension guage – stitches pulled too tight, a tell-tale sign of stress reaching even to the fingertips. But the co-ordination, the practice that makes it possible to find precisely a tiny hole from the back of a canvas and so working blind, the gentle rhythm of making and allowing to become, is all very therapeutic. Which is just as well – they weren't kidding when they said relocation and house moving are up there in the top three of the premier league of stressors!

    When the redstart is finished I'll scan it and post a picture – be a wee while yet. Meantime I need to start thinking about those other forms of tapestry – like life, work, relationships and all the other strands that make up the pattern of our days. Oh, and by the way, on my visit to the craft shop I'll need to buy a stitch remover, a small needle-like tool with a sharp delta blade for cutting out wrong stitches, removing evidence of mistakes, allowing the chance to get it right. Wish life had one of them too! :)).