Thursday, 20 November 2014

Thy Smiles I court not

Things are going well for the Littlecoates Community Centre since we let the St Michael's-owned building to a specially created arms-length community group.  There are enough volunteers to keep on top of things like the grass.  There is increased use so rents are covering the normal bills.  And grants have just paid for this new kitchen and for new windows like this.  It all depends on a group several of whom are church members but several of whom are not.

Meanwhile, my attention has bee  drawn to this gravestone at St Nicolas' - one of the earliest surviving there.  I wonder who bothered putting the broken pieces back together when so many other such stones were lost?  And when?

I've discovered it is the grave of Timothy Smithson, whose mother may have been a Garness, and Martha Coldwell, who were married in 1778 aged 27 and 17, and that the youngest of their children was baptised the day after Martha died.  I've also discovered that Timothy's Will is in the Lincolnsire County Archive, so I've ordered a copy.  The poem was what particularly struck the person who drew my attention to it.

[To the] Memory of
[Who Depart]ed this Life
1st day of April 1819
Also of
Wife of the above: who died August the
24th 1801 – Aged 41 years.

Fare wel vain world.  I’ve had enough of thee,
And now am careless what thou say'st of me:
Thy Smiles I court not; nor thy Frowns I fear.
My Cares are past; my head lies quiet here.
What Faults thou saw’st in me take care to shun,
There’s quite (?)  enough within thee to be done. 

Tuesday, 11 November 2014

Book announcement

A book of my poems (many of which have appeared here) is being published on 24th November.  The formal launch is at the new Arts Centre at the Grimsby Institute at 7.30.  Skint begins on TV at 9.00 but I hope that the quality of life in Grimsby will be better represented at my event.  The book is beautifully illustrated by Emily Connor, a student from the Institute, and proceeds from its sale will be for St Andrew's Hospice.

Monday, 10 November 2014

Parochial Welcome Home

A family has just returned to St George’s, Bradley a pair of Bibles from among those given, as the bookplate of this one indicates, to those returning to the village at the end of the Second World War. 

From among the illustrations in this particular volume I’ve picked out ‘Idolatry’ from the Old Testament and ‘The Conversion of St Paul’ from the New Testament simply because I enjoyed them. 

Of additional note is the signatures of the Churchwardens - a Tickler (the Jam Factory family, from the Manor House next door to the church) and a Dixon (the Paper Mill family, from the more modern country house called The Gairs, complete with its Gertrude Jekyll garden).

Monday, 3 November 2014

Measuring discipleship

Old ground?

It is over twenty years since I joined a newly re-shaped diocesan mission and training team, with the radical approach of it being led by a member of the Bishop’s Staff.  Bill Ind as Director found creative ways for parishes to express their knowledge and outward looking service of their communities.  John Cole, who had been a diocesan missioner, promoted Robert Warren’s developing Missionary Congregation approach (which was then published in 1996) with its emphasis on being distinctive and engaged – rooted in both faith and locality.  Joan Butterfield, who had been adult education officer, championed lay development which was not just about eventual ministerial recruitment.  I, as the new Clergy Training Adviser, sought to help clergy see new ways of working.  Together we and others shared commonplaces such as ‘pilgrim’ being a better model than ‘family’ and about building ministry around the gifts available rather than simply around the needs perceived.

Last month a newly re-shaped diocesan discipleship development team was commissioned, with a member of the Bishop’s Staff leading it, and a new Continued Ministerial Development Officer also came into post.   I attended a training day which one of them put on last week – and the paragraph above is actually a result of my playing a version of Bingo when I got home (once I’d updated the Robert Warren reference to Healthy Churches Handbook published in 2012).  I was much less disturbed by the absence of corporate memory than by reflecting on the ways what I had once taught and now attempt to practice hasn’t really made the difference in our parish which I would have innocently predicted twenty years ago.

Anyway, the new team is now ready to lead the diocese’s Year of Discipleship 2015, with a Lent Course and a new parish Discipleship Development Programme as the flagship provision, and details are being known in places such as this training event.  I would so much love it if the Lent Course bore less similarity to the sorts of material with which we have actually been seeking to energise people’s faith and commitment in most recent Lents.  I would also so much love it if the Discipleship Development Programme didn’t appear to require us to go back to the beginning of the process in which we’ve been fully involved for a while (awareness of context, Mission Statement, Parish Day, immediate goal statement, and specific limited action plan).  I would really love it if instead someone could come alongside what we are doing and help us see its strengths and weaknesses and suggest genuine creative next steps rather than take us over what may actually be the same ground again.  But I’m repeatedly told to guard against being so negative.

New ground?

There was mention of a fresh element (at least to me) in the Lent Course – something about which I’ve been thinking a lot since.  Each participant is to be asked to score (literally, on a scale 1-10) six features of his or her own discipleship.  This is to be done both at the beginning and at the end of the course - and (the new feature to me) the cumulative picture produced is to be fed back to the Church Council to give the parish a strong indication of where scores are low thus indicating which areas of preaching and resourcing need tackling next. 

The rub could, of course, be exactly how one defines the constituent features of discipleship, mature faith and thus healthy churches.  In the same way the recent list in the Church Times of the one hundred most important Christian books is both an enormous help but also provokes cries of ‘how could you have [failed to] include that one?’, I’d find it very hard to draw up my own definitive list but very easy to suggest ‘improvements’ to someone else’s (which I hope is an indication of engagement rather than simply further evidence of my terminal negativity, but who knows).

The Course’s selection, we were told, will be: the level of factual knowledge and intellectual assent to faith; the level of public and private religious practice; and the level of impact this has on one’s religious experience and on one’s lifestyle.  So that this won’t look too abstract or obscure, specific examples are given helpfully in these six areas (each followed by an ‘etc’ presumably to indicate strongly that they are simply illustrative and not definitive): knowing facts about the Bible and Christian belief; believing that Jesus walked on water; going to church services and groups; praying and reading the Bible privately; having felt the presence of God and heard him speaking to you; and having faith affect your lifestyle, spending and voting.

I’d buy engaging with the Bible, praying and having faith affect lifestyle every time.  Nevertheless, I wonder whether not being sure about biblical miracle stories, not being member of a specific church group and not feeling one hears God speak directly are such sure indications of Christian immaturity or ill health?  Might a Church Council given a steer about low scores here be tempted to take remedial action to create certainty rather than confidence, more fellowship rather than deeper faith and emotion rather than joy?  Or perhaps I simply reveal why engendering church growth is so elusive for me and it is in fact precisely the provision of robust teaching, close shepherding and exuberant worship which my tradition lacks but which is actually required.

For what it is worth, I’d have put in bids explicitly to include feeling fundamentally secure even when faced with difficulty, doubt and failure, the practice of giving and receiving forgiveness, and the whole range from loving service of neighbour to working for justice and peace – confidence which is trusting rather than certain, faith honed as much in external as in internal encounter, and joy which is discovered to have been the surprising quiet surreptitious infection of God and God’s ways.


The self-seeded ash which, especially in full leaf, obscured the view of the east end of St Nicolas’, and a branch of which may have recently been responsible for knocking the cross skew there, was felled last week.  At Matins this morning, I noticed from inside how crisp and clear the colours of the east window appear now it is not shaded from the outside (although I actually regret that I have been party to destroying an accidental phenomenon which used to entrance and feed me).  And outside the roofers had arrived to re-fix the cross - which they said to me looks like an easy task as it is held in place by a copper pipe which they may even have straightened by now.

Monday, 27 October 2014

Changing perspectives

I’ve enjoyed ballet music as light background music and I’ve watched the occasional ballet as a sometimes enjoyable spectacle but I’m not sure I’ve really seen the point.  Why would men want to dress from the waist down in the next thing to being naked but be heavily costumed from the waist up?  As undoubtedly clever balancing and revolving on one’s toes is, why would one want to watch variations on the same circus turn repeat through a whole evening?

But our latest 'Live Stream' experience was to see the Royal Opera House’s Manon including just enough commentary to alert us, for example, to the way a pas de deux between the principals in each act demonstrates their developing relationship.   And it did - from the ‘two people as a single body’ early on with the female principal apparently as light as a feather to her being convincing both as floppy as a rag doll and as a dead weight at the end.  I'm sold.

Saturday’s Independent had an interview with Shami Chakrabarti, Director of Liberty, once described in the Sun as ‘the most dangerous woman in Britain’ by a journalist who, following his subsequent sacking, now has a case against his former employer in the Court of Human Rights in which Liberty has intervened to support him.  ‘Everybody loves their own human rights’, she comments,‘it’s just other people’s that are problematic’.  Delicious. 

Today’s Grimsby Telegraph has an item about a speech by Rob Walsh, Chief Executive of North East Lincolnshire Council, which brings into sharp focus a recent post of mine.  ‘In two years’ time the council will have 40 per cent less money than two years ago... We spend 62 per cent of our money on protecting the vulnerable and safeguarding children... [and] I can’t see that amount changing...  Local authorities need to be the strategic enablers of growth... enabling and facilitating, not necessarily intervening.’

I’m neither sold on nor savouring this, but nevertheless it is really helpful to be so clear about it.  His main focus was on the infrastructure for economic  growth, especially with the potential of the renewable industry locally.  My focus is on waiting for the report due now on the implications of all this for the Voluntary, Community and Social Enterprise sector.

Monday, 20 October 2014

The place of the Nunc dimittis

The cross on the east gable of St Nicolas', Great Coates has suddenly started to topple, although it is held in place by a significant metal spike.  It is possible that it has taken a knock from a branch of a neighbouring tree - a tree we planned to fell in the next few weeks.  Ah, well.  The area around the east end of the church is now taped off.

Meanwhile, my rare 'turn' to preach at Cathedral Evensong came yesterday, at a service formally attended by members of the recently re-formed Lincolnshire branch of the Prayer Book Society.  I habitually preach from notes so any readers of this Blog are usually spared lazy posts which simply consist of my reproducing my sermons, but the Cathedral often asks for a full text so I had to type it up.  I wouldn't read much further if such a service is not your thing.

"May words trip from my tongue at this time not hollow and vain, but in honour of Him, and which profit and please every person who hears them.  Amen.

There is a poem from about the year 1400 which only survives in a single manuscript, one held by the Library of this Cathedral; the opening prayer for this sermon is Simon Armitage’s translation of some early lines of that poem.

But, for a text, let us look to the words of this service in the Book of Common Prayer, the words of Luke 2.29: Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.

If I say that there is a decent word for Lord in the Greek New Testament but it is not the word which Luke uses here, that there is a decent word for servant in the Greek New Testament but it is not the word Luke uses here, and that there is a decent word for depart in the Greek New Testament but it is not the word which Luke uses here, I hope that is sufficiently intriguing.

But first, a step backwards.  I hope the members of the newly re-formed Lincolnshire branch of the Prayer Book Society and those very familiar with Prayer Book Evensong will forgive me for going over very familiar ground for just for a moment.

The early chapter of Luke’s Gospel includes three songs. 

First, in the mouth of Jesus’ pregnant mother, responding to the greeting of her cousin Elizabeth, there is the song beginning My soul doth magnify the Lord, known to us by its first word in Latin as Magnificat.

Second, in the mouth of John the Baptist’s father when his tongue was freed at the naming of his son, there is the song beginning Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, known to us by the Latin title Benedictus.

Thirdly, in the mouth of the prophet Simeon as he takes the new born Jesus in his arms, the song beginning Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace and known by its opening words Nunc Dimittis.

In the monasteries of developing Christendom these songs were sung every day.  A ‘Gospel Canticle’ was at the centre of each of the main services.

At Lauds, the nearest equivalent to our Morning Prayer, it was the Benedictus which was sung.  At Vespers, the nearest equivalent to our Evening Prayer, it was the Magnificat.  At Compline, what for us is Night Prayer, it was the Nunc Dimittis.  So the three songs became associated with prayer at certain times of day - and, given they were sung in Latin, this is how they came to be known by the Latin names we still use.

Part of the genius of Thomas Cranmer in creating what we know as Prayer Book Matins and Evensong was to re-use and re-shape this tradition.  He placed a reading from the Old Testament and a reading from the New Testament in both services.  And he placed a Canticle as a response to each.

So at Matins, the Old Testament lesson is followed by a translation of the non-biblical Latin hymn Te Deum, and the New Testament lesson by the Benedictus, while at Evensong, the Old Testament lesson is responded to by the Magnificat and the New Testament lesson by the Nunc Dimittis.

Cranmer stripped out all complexity and the vast majority of non-biblical material.  There is a non-biblical chorus in the service beginning Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost, and this comes up several times in the opening responses, after Psalms and after Canticles.  But otherwise, through the first half of Evensong in particular all the others words are from scripture.

The opening sentences are from scripture.  The Psalms are scripture.  The readings are scripture.  And, as we have just seen, the Canticles are scripture.  It has been said that taking part in the service is like being ‘pickled in scripture’.

So, I’ve got there now, every day at Evensong, the reading from the New Testament is responded to by the words of the Nunc Dimittis beginning Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.

There is a decent word for Lord in the Greek New Testament but it is not the word which Luke uses here. 

The word for Lord is kurios – and those who take part in choral worship actually know this because it is one of few New Testament Greek words which are still sung regularly; kyrie eleison means Lord, have mercy.

But the word which Luke uses is despota – from which we get the word despot, which already gives a different flavour to it.  Where both kurios and despota are used together later in the New Testament the usual translation is Lord and Master.

There is a decent word for servant in the Greek New Testament but it is not the word Luke uses here.
The word for servant is diakonia – and this is the source of our word deacon for a sort of ordained servant.

But the word which Luke uses is doulon – which is the word for slave.

So less Lord and servant than Master and slave.

Then, although there are a range of decent words for departing, going and dying in the Greek New Testament, Luke uses a particular word. 

The Greek word luo is to untie: there are many things which the New Testament tells us are untied from donkeys and sandals to graveclothes and chains.

The word Luke uses here is an intense form of the word luoapo-lueis.  It is the word for release - for release from prison, for divorce (because that is release from marriage) and for being set free.
So we have Master you are freeing your slave.  It is an act of manumission with which we are dealing.

If we were to try to put this into modern English - and I realise in present company that this is a dangerous thing to suggest – members of the Prayer Book Society might like to put their fingers in their ears and say ‘la, la, la’ to themselves for seven seconds...

If we were to try to put this into modern English it is almost true that the best form of words would be  Free at last!  Free at last!  Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!

So there may be a quite unexpected rhythm to Prayer Book Evensong – one which Cranmer can hardly have intended.

What at first might seem to be something to do with a depth of continuity – pickling in the sense of preserving – Nunc Dimittis conveying a flavour of beginning a well deserved retirement...

... may actually be about transformation – pickling in the sense of taking what would otherwise soon rot and changing it so that that it will remain useable – Nunc Dimittis conveying a flavour of being set free from bondage.

We are invited to hear the Old Testament lesson and then to respond with a recognition of the range of possibilities which this opens up - as the Magnificat makes it clear that the proud, mighty and rich must give way to the humble and hungry – I’ve not touched on that.

We are then invited to hear the New Testament lesson knowing that we will respond to it each and every time with a shout that all these possibilities are now actually opening up in front of us.

We are invited by the constant round of reading and singing scripture to be pickled in it so that our priorities and attitudes change.

We are invited by each and every specific reading of scripture to ask ourselves in what particular way this passage frees us and might free others.

Regular attentive participation in Prayer Book Evensong may be one of the most radical things in which it is possible to be involved."

Monday, 13 October 2014

Cast a cold eye

Seeing Calvary last week has sent me back to other literary and theological sources, which is an unusual feat for a film, and I’m not just picking up the title’s signal that we are dealing with hills at which good Christian sacrificial death takes place.  I apologise for a post which won’t make much sense to those who haven’t seen the film.  I’d like to know much more about how John Michael McDonagh, both screen writer and director, developed it.
For example, the cross between The Power and the Glory and Father Ted seems quite explicit.  The Brendan Gleeson priest could walk from Calvary into The Power and the Glory without breaking his stride, and his whiskey, his in-part-abandoned daughter and his fate are just some of the identity he would take from one to the other.  It is almost as if McDonagh was asking how The Power and the Glory might look in a post-abuse-scandal Ireland rather than an anti-Catholic Mexico.

The David Wilmot priest with whom he shares a Clergy House, however, could be parachuted into Father Ted without anyone spotting the join, so much so that I suspected that this was a knowing joke.  This priest is one of the stock characters presented as a foil for the Brendan Gleeson priest.  Others seemed to be there simply to represent everything from appetite for adultery and atheism to appetite for murder and post-abuse scandal suspicion - and then disappear again.

More than that, several appeared to be there to voice one aspect of the New Atheist / problem-of-suffering debate - in some cases before they simply disappeared again as well.

And still more than that, the second star of the film appeared to be Ben Bulben, the distinctive mountain never referred to but often visible as the action takes place under it.  Since Under Ben Bulben is Yeats’ final poem, was McDonagh picking up some of Yeats’ characters (‘Sing the peasantry, and then / Hard Riding country gentlemen, / The holiness of monks, and after / Porter-drinkers’ randy laughter’)?  Or his commission (‘Poet and sculptor, do the work, / Nor let the modish painter shirk / What his great forefathers did. / Bring the soul of man to God, / Make him fill the cradles right’)?

This is probably only half of it, so it is all very exhausting before one tries to follow through other strands such as the suicide theme or ask ‘Who did kill the dog then?’.

The picture is a further one from Alton last week.