Sabbatical Soundings 8 - 1 in 3

Our road trip was about more than wildlife - I'm interested in human animals too! A couple of years ago we were in the Henry Ford museum in Detroit, Michigan in which the bus that Civil Rights Activist, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat is exhibited. I knew something of her story, but we decided to make Montgomery, Alabama, where the events took place part of our trip.

It was an interesting journey in itself from Mississippi, through small towns, along highways and state roads rather than on bland interstate highways. Travelling like this we began to get a sense of an America that was unfamiliar from previous trips to cosmopolitan, northern cities or laid back California. 

Here we passed farms, big and small. Enormous agricultural equipment, run-down houses, vast mansions, confederate flags and Trump yard signs combined to remind us how polarisation of economic, social and political perspectives and inequalities dominate the cultural landscape of twenty-first century USA  - as well as the UK and much of Europe. Arriving in Montgomery, we found our way to our hotel - a pleasant Marriott constructed out of three historical buildings right in downtown Montgomery. 

Our first stop the next day was a short walk to the Legacy Museum,
opened in April 2018. I knew that it was a museum about the legacy of the transatlantic slave trade but I was entirely unprepared for the profoundly moving experience that the museum represents. It takes the whole sweep of the history of the Black experience in the US over the past 400 years and divides it into four eras: enslavement, racial terror, segregation and the era which we're in now - mass incarceration. 

The museum is one of several Legacy Sites in Montgomery, created by the Equal Justice Initiative, a law practice set up by Bryan Stevenson to represent those who have limited access to legal representation in the criminal justice system, the vast majority of whom are black.

There is so much that I am still processing and will continue to learn and process from this experience. I left feeling like I had only scratched the surface, but in that time, had my entire worldview re-orientated to a previously unknown perspective. It was a similar feeling to the one I had after studying at the Holocaust Memorial in Yad Vashem - something like profound horror mixed with deep sorrow, and a determination not to let this be the last time I ever thought or spoke about the issues raised.

The museum is not just a history of the experience of slavery and civil rights, although both of those things are covered. The Equal Justice Initiative's contention is that slavery was not abolished, no matter what the 13th Amendment to the constitution says. Rather than being abolished, it has simply evolved across the years since then, based on the perverted and pervasive view that a black human is somehow "less than" a white human. Racism takes different forms in the 21st century and different forms in the UK from the US - but it has certainly not gone away.

The website has brilliant articles and images on it, but the summary of the story is in this really helpful video. 

There's far too much for one blog post - and this is something that I want to follow up with but here are three


(from many) shifts in perspective that the museum helped me to make:

• the Atlantic ocean, that we had crossed by sea to get to the US is a mass grave for approximately 2 million Africans, ripped from their homes and communities and forced onto ships for six weeks of hellish conditions where their destination was forced labour and, often, cruelty.  I have been reading the Archbishop of Canterbury's Lent book, Tarry Awhile by Selina Stone  . In it she reflects on the experience of forced movement for Black people and had this to say about the sea:

                "The sea, though beautiful, can also be a traumatic place for Black people owing to our ancestral experiences of it. For generations, of Black people, the sea represented forced movement from their homeland to plantations...... The sea can be a traumatic place. The deep is not void at all."

        Our own crossing seemed much less romantic after that.

• that lovely hotel we were staying in made from three historical buildings? One was the house of a wealthy family and the others next door were their warehouses - containing slave pens. The historical sign outside the house which is now an upmarket restaurant neglects to mention this but  I slept less comfortably that night. The Legacy museum puts an emphasis on the importance of place. Montgomery was the place of one of the largest domestic slave markets in the South. It occupies the site of a  After the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade in 1808, the domestic slave trade exploded and the enslaved population of Alabama rose exponentially. Whereas I had previously been focussed on the horror of the slave ships crossing the Atlantic, it was the domestic slave trade which persisted until 1865 and which was no respecter of familial ties, that traumatised the black population even further.

• 1 in 3 black male babies born in the US today will be imprisoned during their lives. I thought of my son and  his mates. Tens of thousands of young men like them are incarcerated - some of them in bonded labour - with little hope of a life not blighted by injustice, poverty and crime. It's not just a US problem. Here in the UK, in January 2024, Gavin Stephens, the chair of the National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC) accepted that police forces in the UK were still institutionally racist and too little progress had been made towards  reducing disproportionate outcomes for black and other minority ethnic people in the UK. (Article here) 
  

Photography is not allowed inside the Legacy museum, but I have included this photo from the nearby National Memorial for Peace and Justice. 

Sabbatical Soundings 7 - a flying start and gentle giants

Before leaving Florida, we stopped for a few hours in St Petersburg on Tampa Bay and made an unexpected discovery. It turns out that this was the site of the world's first commercial flight - a "flying boat" piloted by the world's first commercial airline pilot, Tony Jannus.

There's more about him on this website, but it was fun to watch the small planes take off and land and do circuits at the small airport and flying school on the bay. We also couldn't resist a photo of Andrew with his "original ancestor" in the world of aviation! 

After St Petersburg we made our way to Crystal River, where we stayed in a gorgeous hotel near the shorefront. 

It's a small town  - and we saw a lot of those in our travels - they truly are a world away from the big cities of our last US trip. But it's a small town with a big claim as the manatee capital of the world. Seeing a manatee was another thing I wanted to do on our travels and we went out on a boat (again!) one sunny afternoon and saw several of these gentle giants. The Kings Bay in Crystal River is fed by about 50 warm springs and so the water has a relatively consistent temperature of around 20 degrees Celsius. This means that in the winter, hundreds of endangered manatees who are warm-blooded mammals make the Bay their home and the environment is actively managed for their protection.

This is a juvenile manatee

It's also the only place in the US where swimming or boating near them is permitted. They're not easy to photograph but I did manage to get a couple of shots!

Crystal River looks idyllic with lovely waterfront homes and many opportunities for fishing, kayaking and enjoying the environment. But our boat guide also told the story of last summer's hurricane in August 2023 (news footage here showing the storm surge) which was swiftly followed by a tornado in October 2023  - news coverage here . We commented on the renovation work going on in our hotel when we arrived - and now we understood the reason why. This community has a deep understanding of both the beauty and the destructive power of nature. When I asked the hotel staff about the impact of the storms they found it hard to talk about this double blow in such quick succession. The storm surge from Hurricane Idylia took the water as high as the bottom of the letters on the front of Pete's Pier.

Sabbatical Soundings 6 - Not so dry land

We were finally off the ship and it seemed pretty straightforward to acquire landlegs. We picked up our hire car and ignoring all the other undoubted delights of Miami, we set off for the Everglades. For this bird-deprived lover of birds, it was a treat for the eyes and the soul. I am particularly fond of birds of prey and the immediate sight of dozens of vultures soaring made my heart sing. But amongst the rivers of grass, we saw many different varieties of egret, anhinga, vulture, osprey, spoonbill, ibis, heron and kite.

I'm not sure why I'm so fascinated with birds. I'm not a real expert and I wouldn't go searching for miles or sitting for hours in search of a rare sighting, but little gives me more joy than watching the birds on the feeders in my garden or the huge eagles, hawks and vultures that are encountered at my favourite place for a day out, the Hawk Conservancy Trust. There are quite a lot of different birds to be found in the Scriptures, and special mentions for my favourite -  eagles. I find myself drawn to their ability to see the world from a completely different perspective - and to be able to change that perspective frequently and quickly - in contrast to the entrenched positions humans are so capable of adopting.

The Miccosukee village

But we went to the Everglades to see an alligator, and we were not disappointed. We went out in an airboat, at a site run the Native American  Miccosukee tribe, where we also saw some traditional alligator wrestling and learned more about the struggle for indigenous people to survive in North America after the uninvited arrival of European colonists. 

On our airboat, we found our first alligator (as well as a camera-shy crocodile) in minutes, and enjoyed a small taste of this vast landscape whose ecodiversity makes it of enormous environmental importance.

Everglades alligator

A couple of days later we found ourselves in the Corkscrew swamp sanctuary boardwalk where a different swamp environment is rich with two hundred year old Cypress trees - as well as birds, alligators, turtles and raccoons. 

The green at the bottom of the trees is not solid ground - it is weeds on the water

Exploring the Everglades and the Cypress swamps was balm after a journey devoid of green leaves and birds. What a blessing to have been able to experience some of the richness and diversity of creation, including the humans who call it home.

Sabbatical Soundings Part 5 - out of time

 I realise that I hadn't recorded anything here of a significant week at the start of my Sabbatical. I joined with 23 other clergy for a consultation at St George's House, Windsor.

Here we are on the steps of St George's Chapel.

It was a remarkable experience for all kinds of reasons but we met deeply with God in and through one another and also by virtue of our remarkable surroundings.

At our introductory session, the facilitators joked that they hoped to create a safe space for exploring personal growth, but that this safe space was also guarded by police with automatic weapons and very smart-looking soldiers in bearskin hats. In that sense, we were pretty safe in there.

We had privileged access to the Chapel, open to us before and after the castle was open to the public. It's a beautiful space and the sense of history verges on the absurd. At Morning Prayer one day, the President remarked that this was the day the Church remembered Charles, King and Martyr, "who is of course buried just behind me" (Alongside Henry VIII and Jane Seymour which is itself another story)

11 monarchs are buried in the Chapel, including of course Her late Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II and the late Duke of Edinburgh. Few of us who saw it will forget Prince Philip's funeral in April 2021 with the late Queen in a face mask, sitting on her own with only 30 people allowed to attend. There is something very moving about spending time at their graves, and it turns out that Windsor Castle had its own version of The Queue when it reopened following the Queen's funeral as thousands of people wanted to visit her final resting place. Interestingly, most visitors to the Castle now also visit St George's Chapel whereas before the late Queen's death, only about 50% of visitors did so.

There is therefor a sense of history and stability that is inescapable in that place.  It's in a place like Windsor that it is brought home to us that we are all part of something much bigger and many things will outlast us.

But it is also a place where the relationship between Church and State is very visible. The whole purpose of St George's is to pray for the monarch and the Order of the Garter, who are the monarch's closest companions. There are banners and crests for each of the Knights of the Garter - many former Prime Ministers, foreign royalty and members of the Royal Family. Earthly power and wealth are very much in evidence, and I couldn't help wondering what the vulnerable, utterly powerless infant Jesus in the beautiful crib scene  made of it all.

But the combination of the safe space and the sense of the importance of the place did, I think, help our group to create an openness to new insights and learning about ministry and ourselves, and it felt like we were there for much longer than five days.

One thing that only came to me on our penultimate day was also to do with the location. Windsor sits directly under the flight path for Heathrow airport and aircraft were our constant overhead companions. For my entire married life until now, we have been "under the aircraft", or at least had life greatly influenced by the demands of British Airways' flight schedule. There were times when my poor husband had no annual leave allocated during school holidays. It was impossible to plan far in advance for anything, unless he was awarded annual leave for things like family weddings and celebrations. I was a part-time single parent as his work took him away for things like concerts, assemblies, school events. All of this no longer applies since he has retired- and school concerts are not something we tend to go to any more. But it took a week of being under the aircraft at Windsor for this to truly sink in for me. 

It was a huge privilege to undertake that transition and to have space to contemplate a new phase of life in that place.

I have no photos of the Chapel as photography is not permitted inside - but there is the website where you can have a virtual tour. St George's Windsor

Sabbatical Soundings part 4 - All at sea

Random things I learned at sea (in no particular order)

• It is utterly mesmerising. It is in constant movement and never looks the same two seconds in a row. It is always interacting - with the wind, the light, the clouds, the sun. When the sunlight broke through the clouds and tickled the surface, it was a beautiful party that I felt like I wanted to dive into. I can see why people fall in love with ocean travel.
  
• 
  
  It is really boring (yes, I know, but I'm asking readers to do the grown up thing and hold two contradictory facts in our heads at the same time) It is endlessly dull and grey. When we were miles, hundreds of miles, from land, and all around was grey, I craved some other life. For days there were no birds, no life visible above the waves. For days there were no other vessels on the horizon. I can see why people go mad at sea for weeks on end. 
• There is a scale for sea swell. If you're interested, it's here  It goes from 1 to 9. On day three when it got to 7 (high seas, 6-9m swell) little packets of sick bags appeared on each landing of the stairs. There were certainly times when walking was harder than you might imagine, we were woken up in the night from the rocking and rolling, and when nausea kicked in. The highest we got was a Force 9 wind and a sea swell of 8 - very high. I was very thankful to be on a modern large ship with stabilisers and ginger ale. And in awe of those who choose to travel the same ocean on something much smaller
• 
  

• 

  It's very deep - at times there were thousands of metres of water below us. But the ship can also sail perfectly happily in quite shallow water as it approaches ports. On those days when I saw no other life, there was, of course plenty of it.  It was simply below the surface. When else might I miss the life that is abundant, but below a surface?

Sabbatical Soundings part 3 - Ocean perspectives.

It was something of a surprise to both my husband and I when I decided a Transatlantic crossing on a cruise ship would be something I'd like to do. Famously, I previously felt seasick on a canal barge.

But for me there was something about the length of the journey (11 nights on board with no stops) that appealed. It felt like we were placing the emphasis on the travelling itself -  and the time and effort involved in just travelling. Travelling 5000 miles at around 20mph was something I had never experienced. It was a significant investment of time compared with our 8 hour flight home. 

Of course, it was also a luxury! we were on board a large modern cruise ship - I really would not like to cross the ocean in something smaller! Our cabin was comfortable and the food was good (and plentiful) There was entertainment on board that we dipped in and out of (mostly out) but it was an opportunity to be off-grid and to read - both of which I took full advantage of. 

One of the aspects of the journey I knew I'd enjoy was the big skies. I love living where I live, but its abundance of trees means that my horizon is at least 50 feet above my head, and only a patch of sky is visible from any window. I wanted to put myself somewhere that the horizon would make me feel small and to experience something of the size of our planet in a way that modern air travel tends to deprive us of.

On the Atlantic ocean the sky was utterly enormous. Sometimes the horizon was close to the ship - we had some days of poor visibility with the result that the ship frequently deployed its fog horn. But on other days it stretched into the distance as if the ship and the sea were the only things to exist. So, although the ship itself was huge, it was more than possible to feel small. 

All too often I find there are things in life or in ministry which completely fill my horizon in an unhealthy way. What I need in those moments is a proper perspective. During our days at sea, as I sat and thought and read and prayed, I was able to find different perspectives on some things that I had been finding difficult. While there was learning and some healing in that itself, it turned out to be only the first of several shifts of perspective that the trip would bring about.

The gift and privilege of this sense of size, so hard to describe, has also brought a fresh meaning to some familiar hymns and songs.

Sabbatical Soundings - Part 2 Ash Wednesday - dust or water?

I had an odd Ash Wednesday this year. Not only because my Extended Study Leave (Sabbatical) has taken me away from parish ministry altogether for the whole of Lent, Holy Week and Easter, but because it was the second day of our Transatlantic crossing from Southampton to Miami. 

I saw a meme about Ash Wednesday coinciding with Valentine's Day this year, which it does, every so often. It went something like this:

Q:(addressed to a priest) "What are your plans for Valentine's Day?"

A: "I'm rubbing dirt on people's faces and telling them they're going to die."

It is my privilege every year to do just that. Or at least to say to people who come forward to have an ash cross marked on their forehead, that they should:

"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return. Turn away from sin and be faithful to Christ."

It's a profoundly moving moment for me, not least as I look back on seven years in this parish and remember those people whom I've ashed and whose funerals I have subsequently conducted. 

Ash Wednesday, like the whole of Lent invites us to consider our mortality. Not in a morbid way, but because through Lent we move inexorably towards the death of Christ on Good Friday. But it's also because we're invited to consider how we will spend the days of the life that we have. Lent is an invitation into the fullest possible life - life with God - and that's why we examine our disciplines of prayer, worship, reading, fasting, generosity, and through these practices (as the Common Worship Eucharistic Preface has it) "learn to be your people once again".

Making ash from
the previous year's Palm Crosses

One of the reasons for using ash on Ash Wednesday is because the Biblical tradition tells us that humans were made from the dust of the earth, and we return there after death when we're buried. The first human, named Adam, deriving from the Hebrew word for soil or earth was so named because God created humans from the dust of the earth. (You can read all about that in Genesis Chapter 2.)

Anyway, this year as we headed out into the Atlantic ocean, I discovered that dust and ash are quite hard to come by on a cruise ship. I should perhaps have thought of that before I left but I had other packing issues. There is no soil on the ship (not even any artificial plants as it turns out) and very little dust because they keep the place scrupulously clean in the aftermath of Covid. No dust to use to mark the start of Lent and to remember our mortality. 

However, we were completely surrounded by water.

The finished ash!

That got me thinking. Israel was a people more accustomed to the desert than the sea (think Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Elijah) so their understanding of where humans began will have been influenced by this. But water is essential for life  - and desert people certainly knew that. While the desert is an important part of the story  of God's people, Israel, water is significant too. They were saved from their life of slavery in Egypt through the waters of the Red Sea. The Spirit of God hovered over the waters at the time of creation. They passed through the Jordan river to enter into the Promised Land. Some of this is echoed in the Christian Baptismal rite where the prayers say: 

"Over water the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through water you led the children of Israel from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land." 

(Common Worship Baptism, prayer over the water)

We have a different understanding of where life began from those who wrote down the stories of Genesis. We know now that all life on earth began in water, and that humans are made of about 60% water. 

In the Christian tradition, water is most often associated with new life through Baptism rather than mortality and death, although there are some interesting connections. Some people still request that their coffins are sprinkled with water at their funerals to signify and recall their Baptism. But the words I couldn't quite remember on the ship (no internet to look them up!) were these ones:

"We thank you, Father, for the water of baptism.

In it we are buried with Christ in his death."

(Common Worship Baptism, prayer over the water)

Easter is the traditional time for Baptism in the church and Lent was the traditional time for preparation for Baptism when candidates for Baptism would learn about the spiritual disciplines of the Christian faith in preparation to "die with Christ and be raised to new life in Baptism" on the feast of the Resurrection. For us, Lent usually begins with dust and ends with water.

However, this Ash Wednesday, I found a way to reflect on the meaning of the beginning of Lent, my own death and Christian life with an entirely different set of imagery and metaphors, something that I'm still pondering. 

It was no less meaningful for being different. And there was a lot of water!

Sabbatical Soundings

 

2024 sees a period of Sabbatical for me. This amounts to three months of Extended Study leave during which time we are encouraged to pray, rest, read, travel and taking time away from the demands of our ministry to be refreshed and resourced. For me, the timing is perfect. My current role has changed considerably over the time that I have been in post (7 years) and has expanded to proportions that were not envisaged when I took on the role.

I'm tired and need a break. I also need time to envisage a different way of working - I can't continue with 60+ hour weeks that leave little time or energy for anything else. So that's what I'm hoping for.

But I'm hugely grateful to the very talented team in the parish of churchwardens, PCC members, and ministry team who will be holding the fort and also to the lovely friends and colleagues who are covering Sunday worship. It was no small undertaking to find cover for three churches for three months, and I'm enormously grateful to everyone who is helping out. I have no doubt that the parish will enjoy hearing them preach and receiving their ministry.

So there may be a few posts to help me reflect on what's been going on, and to share some of my musings. Some of them will be after the event since I have periods of time when I am without internet access (imagine!!!)

Let's see what happens....

Ash Wednesday

 How can it be Lent again? Sometimes it feels as if we never left last Lent. I will never forget the scramble to do an online service from the church building on Lent 4 last year. It was not much of a  Laetare refreshment Sunday. But we managed something and then came the rapid digita upskilling for us - among many churches. Within a few weeks, the choir in one of my churches was producing music from home - a discpline they have faithfully mantained for many months - interrupted sometimes with brief periods of singing together in the church building. Which is something that I hope none of us ever take for granted again.

But the calendar does not lie, and today is, in spite of my scepticism,  Ash Wednesday. The day on which we ponder our mortality - and  (re?) commit ourselves to spiritual disciplines that will help us to deal with it better - by reminding us that Christian faith and hope maintain that this life is not all there is. God transcends this life and draws us into eternity. So we will die - but it is then that we will see fully....

As a priest on this day I usually get to look healthy people in the eye, make a cross-shaped ash smudge on their forehead and remind them that they are going to die. It's impossibly meaningful and yet utterly mundane.

This year, we're doing it slightly differently. Congregation members have been able to collect a stone with an ash-and-varnish cross on it which we will use in our online service tonight (for which our choir have recorded a hymn, and anthem and a rather lovely plainchant version of Psalm 51  - all of which will be available on our You Tube Channel later)

But the reminder is there. As if we need it. For haven't we done more pondering of our mortality in the past 12 months than at any other time in many of our lives? Every decision at every level (Can I break the rules and walk with two friends? Should I visit my sick parent? Shoud I re-open schools? Restaurants? Who gets a vaccination today?) is governed by considerations of human mortality. Every single decision for the past year has been about saving people from premature death - or saving the ability of the Health Service to cope with patient numbers - which actually amount to the same thing.

I think that, like it or not there has been a collective contemplation of the fragility of life, and the certainty of death. Whether that will bring about lasting change in culture and lifestyle is another (much harder) question. So if, like me, you feel tht your have contemplated mortality enough, i'd like to offer another way of thinking about today. I was really struck by Jan Richardson's Blessing of Dust and the insistent question, "Do you not know what the Holy One can do with dust?" 

Into the dust of human life, God came, lived and died. And transformed that dust into something of eternal worth. So let us be marked, Jan says:

           for claiming

what God can do

within the dust,

within the dirt,

within the stuff

of which the world

is made

and the stars that blaze

in our bones

and the galaxies that spiral

inside the smudge

we bear.

© Jan Richardson  The Painted Prayer Book

What can God do with the dust of which we are made this Lent?

Wilderness

The Judean wilderness January 2019 - a traditional idea of wilderness?

Wilderness

Wilderness is wide.

Bare rocks are there –

No place to hide,

Exposed to all the elements

From every side.

Wilderness holds fear

Of dangers seen, unseen,

From far and near,

Threatening sounds and shadows

Are everywhere.

Wilderness can bloom,

Creative power is there.

Trees and plants find room,

Signs that life will flourish,

Death be overcome.

Wendy Ross-Barker

It seems like forever ago now but on Monday evenings we hold (held) something called Evening Stillness. A short introduction, then a reflection to help us frame our thoughts, and then around 20 minutes of silence. I love it. Thinking along a Lenten theme, I chose this poem for the 9th March. It has been sitting on my desk ever since and I keep returning to it.

It seems to be such a metaphor for where we are now.

We find ourselves in a strange new world where we are all staying at home. It might feel barren, wide with nowhere to hide. We feel exposed and vulnerable - like being in a desert.
It's a threatening place. One of the things I love to do is Godly Play and there are a number of the stories of God's people that take place in the desert. One of the lines in the stories about the desert is that you don't go there unless you have to. Like self-isolation and social distancing perhaps...

But God sometimes spoke very clearly to God's people when they were in thh desert. Think of Abraham entertaining the strangers in the desert, or the wilderness wanderings of Moses and his gang. So it can also be a place of creativity, and there are many signs that death will be overcome.

 I don't know about you but I have been enormously cheered by some of the silly videos and photos that people have been posting of their antics in isolation or quarantine.

There's this song by Sam Chaplin (apologies for the resulting earmworm)

Or this video of an amazing machine at home.

And then there's the beautiful stuff like this video of a Guildford choir singing wonderful harmonies whilst apart.

My current wilderness

 My wilderness looks a little like this photo at the moment - it's beautiful Spring, with lots of signs of new life in nature. Separated perhaps. But there is creativity and new life around. I hope you can share in some of that, and find peace and joy too.

The self-isolated woman at the well - John 4 A homily for 15th March 2020

I love the English language. It is ever-changing and evolving. Every year, the dictionary compilers add new words to the dictionary – and choose a word of the year. A few years ago, who knew what a selfie was? And why it may or may not need a stick?

I can’t help wondering if the word of 2020 will be a compound one, self-isolate. It’s a word I think we would never have used a few months ago. We would have known what it meant, but it would have seemed an odd choice of phrase  - how things change.

But I don’t think that self-isolate is a new concept. In fact I think it’s something that appears in our Gospel readings today. The woman at the well. In Samaria. It was perhaps not the most obvious choice of route from Galilee to Jerusalem for an observant Jew like Jesus. Many would have made the detour to avoid the territory. The Jews and the Samaritans had a history of mutual hatred and  distrust. The dispute was almost a thousand years old by the time that Jesus met this woman. A theological and political dispute dating from the splitting of the northern and southern kingdoms. When Jesus told the story of the good Samaritan, he was telling a radical story of boundary-crossing that has been somewhat diluted over the years. When we hear Samaritan, we think “good.” When his disciples heard “Samaritan”, they thought untouchable. Beyond the pale.

Living water? The River Jordan at Caeserea Philippi

And the Samaritan woman that Jesus meets at the well might have been regarded as the lowest of even these Samaritans. She was, perhaps self-isolating. We don’t know, but we might speculate that her relationship history had made her shunned by the rest of the women in the village. She was there alone in the heat of the day. Or perhaps she was self-isolating. Having had enough of the gossip, the taunts, the sly looks, she takes herself away from where she can be infected, polluted, by the hatred and suspicion of others.

And perhaps today when we think of it like that, the gospel reading takes on a new light. In the state of self-isolation, Jesus speaks to the woman. He does not shun her. He gives the means to quench her thirst for the true God for good. Jesus comes to those who are isolated or who isolate themselves. He comes to the shunned and those who shun others. That is his mission. He does not come for those who are well, but those who are sick. 

His disciples can scarcely believe it. Why does he pay attention to this woman? For what reason are so many of their taboos being ignored? Just how unclean is Jesus prepared to make himself in order to have his message heard by others?

We have no idea what lies ahead of us over the next few weeks. But it is likely that many of us may need to take some time to be away from others. This may or may not be welcome to us! But there is a need to address and acknowledge the fear that is widespread.

Isolation is not a good thing, all in all.

Jesus created a community of believers, in his lifetime and after his resurrection, the Holy Spirit continued that work at Pentecost. The church is a gathering, an ekklesia. It is all about being together with other believers. But there might be a time ahead of us when it is difficult to gather. There might come a time ahead of us when we choose to remove ourselves from  other people. But Jesus is still with us. Jesus still brings living water. Jesus will meet us when we are on our own, away from others. Jesus will be there always, ready to enter into conversation with us. ready to reveal himself as Saviour. So don’t be afraid. We are His and he is with us.

And the woman – even from her isolated position was able to share her faith in Jesus. She was able to bring others to him so that he could share that living water with more people. Perhaps there’s our challenge – even if we become physically estranged from others, we might still be able to point them to Jesus.

An itch where my dog collar usually is....

Happy Easter! Christ is risen!
This Easter has been slightly odd. It's the first Easter in years where I haven't been responsible for anything happening in church. No liturgy to prepare or take part in. No sermon or intercessions or family service to lead. Nothing.

The Easter Cross at St Alban's Church, Southampton
where I served my title.

It has been lovely in lots of ways. I spent much of my time over the past few days worshiping in the beautiful surroundings of Winchester Cathedral. The three hours devotion on Good Friday was thought-provoking and moving. Judith Maltby's addresses did not shirk the difficult issues (including the latent anti-semitism in some of the readings and liturgy) and the choir were in sublime voice - Lotti's Crucifixus  was beautifully delivered. If I was to be a little critical, I'd have liked a bit more silence (although the supreme fidget I was sitting next to might have spoilt that a little anyway)
The Saturday evening vigil was full of the liturgical drama of the new fire, light and new life at the font (with one of my former 8 o'clock congregation being both Baptised and Confirmed) It was a gorgeous sensory experience but as the risen Christ was proclaimed and celebrated in the Eucharist, something odd happened. My throat was itching so I scratched it. And realised that I was itching exactly where my dog collar would have sat had I been wearing one. And in that moment I realised that while I had loved being ministered to by others, I really missed being the one proclaiming the resurrection, and taking, blessing, breaking and sharing the bread. My vocation as a Christian was certainly affirmed in all that we did together in that service as we all remembered our Baptism following a sprinkling of water by the Bishop, but my vocation as priest among the people of God was itching to be expressed.
Next year and probably for every other year until I retire (!) I will be doing that. This year was lovely. But confirmed in me (yet again) that vocation is a Godly itch that needs to be attended to. I look forward to doing that in a new place very soon.
Happy Easter - may you know the joy and peace of the resurrected Lord - and scratch where you are itching!

Imagining reality

The Great Hall

This week, the family went to the Warner Bros Studios at Leavesdon where the Harry Potter films were made. We're all huge Harry Potter fans in our house and we were looking forward to going very much. We were not disappointed. We spent hours there, and because it wasn't too busy we saw everything we wanted to see and had a go at a few things too. Like riding on broomsticks, casting spells and drinking butterbeer.

It was fantastic to see such familiar sets and scenes for real - the Great Hall really is spectacular, and we loved the potions classroom, the Gryffindor Common Room and boys' dorm, Diagon Alley, Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts Castle.... and all of it really The Triwizard Cup, the golden snitch, Buckbeak, Aragog, the Ministry of Magic. Objects, characters and places that are familiar both from the books (where they looked slightly different in my mind at least) and the films where of course they emerge from the designers' imaginations.
On reflection, although this was the "real stuff they used in the films", none of it was really real. Just like in any other movie, props are made and manipulated by the talented crew to appear to do things they don't do or have characteristics they don't have, and this is even more pronounced when the film is about a magical world that has come from the imagination of a talented storyteller. Sadly, the magic wand my daughter bought in the gift shop is showing no sign of being magical at all (although as we're muggles we probably couldn't make a real one work anyway....) and the Time Turner I bought has failed to provide me with any extra time in any day. So it was real stuff and yet, not really real  - if I'm still making sense.

The Sword of Gryffindor

When the Harry Potter books first became popular, I remember having conversations with Christians who were concerned that the "witchcraft" themes would become an unhelpful influence for children. As the saga continued and more books were published, I think it became clear that the books were filled with influences from the Christian story, and the climax (SPOILER ALERT) involved the sacrifice of one for many and a resurrection to boot. So perhaps those early fears proved groundless.

But the books and films and spin-off merchandise are all the product of a very creative imagination. And I've been pondering the power of imagination all week.

Hermione's time turner. My own is yet to produce
 a single millisecond of extra time!

I'm in a Diocese where the Synod recently set four strategic priorities, including to "re-imagine the Church". I love to use imagination in Bible study, in preaching and in worship, and some of the best feedback on preaching I've had is where I preached a completely narrative sermon, imaginatively re-telling the story from the point of view of one of the characters.
 Human imagination is undoubtedly a precious and powerful gift from God. Christians do need to use imagination to properly engage with God's mission because it inevitably involves change.
Perhaps there is a hint of this in Jesus' words to his disciples that we need to become like a child to enter the Kingdom.
What does it really mean to be good news to the poor, to bring sight to the blind, freedom to captives? What does that look like in 2014? In the case of the churches in my Diocese (and probably elsewhere too) we need to accept that it probably doesn't mean more bums on our cherished pews, and also that re-imagining the church will mean that quite a lot of what we already hold dear will have to change beyond recognition.

J.K Rowling's imagination produced a world of marvels and much-loved characters. It's fantastic and fun and  a story which contains lots of important truths. And still none of it is really real.
In contrast, Christian imagination used for the transformation of disciples and through them the communities they live in, can produce something that is really real. For if we're imagining God's Kingdom, we're imagining the most real reality there is.
In my "do nothing" moments this Lent (for more, see here) I've been doing a bit of, what I like to think of as, holy day-dreaming.
I have yet to come up with a world of Muggles and Quidditch (and that's been done already anyway) but perhaps those moments will allow me to catch a glimpse of eternity and inspire me to do my bit to re-imagine, not just the Church, but the world which it is here to serve.

Not busy

This year I am not busy for Lent. To find out more, click here.
It involves intentionally sitting still and doing nothing for at least 10 minutes every day.
Sounds simple?
Well, the idea is simple but the execution is proving much harder than you might imagine. The temptations are endless - radio, TV, internet distractions, books sitting around to be read, magazines and papers with tempting articles, music to be listened to.
I have decided to not have the radio or any music on. I really am trying to still my mind. I failed on Ash Wednesday completely. On the Friday I forgot. But from the attempts I have made so far, here is what I have learned:

1. 10 minutes is a long time. I set a timer and the first day I did it, I kept looking at it. This did not help time pass more quickly.

2. I will remember lots of things I need to do as soon as I sit still. However I have decided not to pick up the pen and write them down as that definitely counts as Doing Something. I have yet to discover if I will always remember these things after the 10 minutes is over, or if I will forget them entirely. Or indeed if it matters if I forget them entirely. Perhaps I will find out that it's OK if some things just don't get done.

3. It is easier to do this when I'm not running a busy parish. But perhaps that's why I need to get into the habit now so that when I do get back into a parish, it's already a regular part of my discipline.

4. It is much easier doing nothing when the puppy comes and sits on the sofa with me and I can stroke her velvety coat. I have convinced myself that this still amounts to doing nothing. After all, who could resist this?

All change

Now gone to a good home!

Today has been a difficult day in lots of ways. A final service in my title post, where I just about managed to retain my composure and although I know I gave the final blessing, I'm not sure exactly how.

Then lovely cards, flowers, astonishingly generous gifts, and  a lovely feast even although it's Lent. I know I have friends here who I will be sure to stay in touch with, and to think of how much I have grown and changed and learned priest-craft ( is that a word?) in the almost four years I have been curate in the parish, is humbling.  But somehow it doesn't seem real.
Somehow, part of me thinks I am getting up in the morning to say Morning Prayer  in St Alban's. But I won't.  Well I will say Morning Prayer.  But alone, in my study.  Because a house move is not imminent,  it all feels a little as if I'm not leaving at all.
But something happened today which felt much more real. We had sold our climbing frame on a well-known internet auction site. It was a gift from my parents when we moved to Basingstoke (The Big Move South) and our children were both under three.  It has been a feature of our lives for nearly 12 years.
And now it's gone. 
It provided hours of fun for our children,  and many of their friends over many years. It was a great asset to the garden.
And now it's gone.
More real than the end of my title post.  More real than the move to a new place.
Our children are now amazing young people,  growing up,  and with us for only a few years more.
The other changes will kick in and become real over the next few days and weeks.

  But this one is real now. 
All change. 

Endings and beginnings

Signs of new life are all around.
And today there's even some sunshine!

Today as I was sitting at my laptop writing my final sermon to be preached tomorrow in my curacy parish, I received an email with the rota for the services in my new one.
It feels odd.
The format is different.
The service pattern is different. 
The other names on it are different (although it really helps that there's a good friend already there - for a while at least) 

It's concrete (or at least paper) evidence of the change that lies before me.

I have long prayed for this change. A new role that allowed my children to stay at their school at least until after public exam courses are over. A context completely different to the one in which I served my title - I'm moving to a much more affluent parish, to churches with large congregations and a growing staff team. A job that will allow me to study and perhaps teach. But having the paper evidence of this change in front of me somehow makes it more real and simultaneously scary and exciting.

There are a lot of challenges in the weeks ahead. Uncertainty over when we might move house is the main one. Reading, thinking and exploring various opportunities for further study is another. I feel like I'm entering into a time of uncertainty, although it seems that much is already settled.

As I was preparing for tomorrow's sermon, I came across some words of Geoffrey Studdert Kennedy, who is one of the three people remembered by the Church of England's lectionary today.

“We have taught our people to use prayer too much as a means of comfort – not in the original and heroic sense of uplifting, inspiring, strengthening, but in the more modern and baser sense of soothing sorrow, dulling pain, and drying tears – the comfort of the cushion, not the comfort of the Cross.”

I wonder if I've been thinking more in terms of the comfortable, cushioned road ahead (in spite of previous experience telling me that it is always anything but) instead of the way of the cross. I need reminding that a comfortable life with everything settled is not what Jesus promised his disciples. Change and uncertainty are part of the package. Learning to deal with that will be part of my discipline for Lent.

Lenten Garden

Sadly, I wasn't thinking ahead enough to take a
"before" picture, but here is "after".

Yesterday was my day off. It feels a bit odd to have a day off this week as I only have another few days left in the parish, with my final service being on Sunday. After walking the puppy, I took it into my head to do a job that had been annoying me for too long, and I cleared and cut back some climbing plants (botanical skills are zero I'm afraid so I have no idea what they are - only that there is - was -  far too much of them)
About 20 minutes in, I was regretting ever lifting up a pair of shears, but I battled on, and eventually the plants were well and truly pruned. Now I confess, I don't know that they'll definitely recover but I do know that I undertook the same exercise two years ago, and having to repeat it is ample testament to the vigorous nature of the plants. They were so vigorous in fact that they were preventing other things from growing - and so my spring bulbs, of which I am excessively fond, were shaded out and covered up, and as a result will not be the display I was hoping for when they were planted.

This is some of the material cut away.

Cutting away lots of plant material the morning after our Ash Wednesday service gave me plenty of time to think about the spiritual pruning that is traditionally called for during Lent. A time to deliberately and intentionally spend time with God and seek spiritual disciplines to cut away from our lives whatever may be unhelpful and preventing other beautiful things from growing.

 Lent will be odd for me this year as I find myself between posts. There will be time, I hope, as we prepare to move house and I prepare to take up a new post in a completely different context, to engage with some pruning of unnecessary things so that other things will grow. Disengaging from my curacy post has felt quite a lot like pruning, and it has not been a painless exercise. I am aware there is yet more to do, perhaps as the administrative and organisational functions which have taken up so much time of late are handed on, I can re-engage with other spiritual ones, recollect and redefine my identity as priest and child of God. I hope I can end Lent as ready for the resurrection as my garden is for new spring growth.
And remember that I will certainly have to repeat the process again next year.

Thank God for Social Media

On Tuesday evening, Evensong had just finished at Salisbury Cathedral when I checked my Twitter feed.
OK I won't lie. I had been checking it during the service too.
The Synod hashtag feed was repeatedly refreshed, except during the singing by the choir of the Magnificat  - Mary's song. As I listened to the familiar words and beautiful music (Noble in B minor) I had the rising sense that, just as God called the woman Mary to do something that had never been done before, (or since, it has to be said) God was also calling the women of this generation to do something new in the life of his church. Some of them would be Bishops.

My Soul magnified the Lord and my Spirit rejoiced in God my saviour.

And then I read my Twitter feed.

I felt incredibly deflated. Shocked. Bereaved. I remain surprised by the strength of my own reaction and have spent today reading, praying and reflecting on it, leaving my place of retreat with a determination to serve, with as much commitment and compassion as before, the people among whom God has placed me.

But on the night, it was hard. As a Myers-Briggs E, I need people around. I prefer to process what's going on out loud with other people. Admittedly this can have embarrassing consequences, but let's not go there.
But on Tuesday night I was alone. Away on a retreat without my family and friends.

I did, however, have Twitter and Facebook. And there I found the same shock and disbelief I was feeling. I found anger, love and compassion. And an almost immediate determination that the result of this vote will not be to diminish the ministry of women in the Church of England. And even some humour. Especially around gin.

So, thank God once more for Twitter. This Extravert was not alone when she needed company the most.
At CNMAC this year we chatted about relationships made over social media. Of course there are dangers. And we must be aware of those. But they are real, not virtual relationships and I valued them enormously this week.