The last day of 2011. Last night I drove my daughter down to Luton airport through the driving rain and clouding spray - something of an epic journey, but completed safely and to time! As I returned on my own, with the roads quieter than before, I had some time to reflect on what resolutions I might take with me into 2012. I have always made resolutions, and generally they have remained private, whether kept or broken. These ones I'll share: you, dear reader, if you're there, are now my witness . . .
1 To be constant and persistent in prayer, taking seriously my calling as a Franciscan and - though presently the exercise of this calling is impaired - as a priest.
2 To write every day, and to begin again the daily journal that the events of last year brought to a close.
3 To increase my involvement in voluntary and charity work in the community, and to maintain a disciplined but generous approach to my use of time and talents.
4 To sing as much and as often as I can (and to smile as I do it)!
5 To keep physically fit by taking regular exercise and care with my diet: getting back into running and taking a decent solo walk each week, eating a little less at each meal and avoiding snacks.
6 To take time to visit and to share quality time with friends and family, recognising that, though I need time on my own, time with those closest to me is equally vital, for my needs and for theirs.
7 To go, with Ann, to at least one concert or play or similar event each month.
8 To enjoy life and the world around me, and to find in every day something to delight in and to be thankful for.
9 To read with more purpose, including a planned and disciplined reading of the Bible.
10 To review all of this on a regular basis, making it part of the rule of life I bring to my spiritual director; and, where I fail, not allowing that to become a reason or excuse for giving up on the project!
Saturday 31 December 2011
Friday 30 December 2011
Reflection on the Year End
In just a few words, on a grey and rainy next-to-last day of the year . . . It's been a busy year so far as world events are concerned, a year of immense upheaval in my own life too. I am no longer able to be what I felt, and feel, called and set apart to be, and the experience is hard and painful. Perhaps next year I may use this space to tell the story more fully, but for now suffice to say that I shall be glad to be rid of 2011, and (artificial though the break may be between one year and the next, after all in medieval times the year began on March 25th) the New year allows me opportunity to hope and to plan for new beginnings.
And yet 2011, for all its pain, has been a journey worth making, with, along the way, some good times and occasions of blessing. If there has been a great deal of bad stuff as well, much of that has been self inflicted. As I worked through the pain I can think of people who could have treated me with more consideration and understanding than perhaps they did, but also of many more for whose care and love and practical support I am so very grateful (and for their prayers too, where they have been praying people).
I cannot look back in anger - what reason would I have for doing so? Even regret is in the end pointless and, at its worst, disabling. What has happened has happened, and my task is to use my experience of failure and falling for good and godly ends. I am assured of God's forgiveness for my faults and failings; but to receive it I must learn to forgive myself, and this, I think, will take time and effort.
As I prayed for help and support one day not long before Christmas, I was given the answer, "All you need to do is to fall into my arms." I feel sure that 2012 can be for me a year of blessing and renewal - a process that begins as I set myself to trust in the Lord, whose promise is: "beneath you are the everlasting arms."
And yet 2011, for all its pain, has been a journey worth making, with, along the way, some good times and occasions of blessing. If there has been a great deal of bad stuff as well, much of that has been self inflicted. As I worked through the pain I can think of people who could have treated me with more consideration and understanding than perhaps they did, but also of many more for whose care and love and practical support I am so very grateful (and for their prayers too, where they have been praying people).
I cannot look back in anger - what reason would I have for doing so? Even regret is in the end pointless and, at its worst, disabling. What has happened has happened, and my task is to use my experience of failure and falling for good and godly ends. I am assured of God's forgiveness for my faults and failings; but to receive it I must learn to forgive myself, and this, I think, will take time and effort.
As I prayed for help and support one day not long before Christmas, I was given the answer, "All you need to do is to fall into my arms." I feel sure that 2012 can be for me a year of blessing and renewal - a process that begins as I set myself to trust in the Lord, whose promise is: "beneath you are the everlasting arms."
Wednesday 28 December 2011
The Next Ten
Having listed a top ten favourite songs, restricting myself to one per artist, I realise there are a few more not far behind, just 'bubbling under', so to speak . . . so here goes:
11 Leonard Cohen - Tower of Song . . . This stark song, so rich in imagery, just grabs me more than any of the rest of his work. I seem to be drawn to songs that are, in some form, about alienation - but maybe that's true anyway of much of the best lyrical work.
12 Korgis - Something About The Beatles . . . I may be cheating here a little, as this song was I think originally released by Stackridge (on 'Something For The Weekend' 1999). It was recorded and released as a single by the Korgis in 2006, and, not surprisingly given the presence of Andy Davis and James Warren in both bands, the two versions sound very similar. The Korgis were strongly influenced by the Beatles and particularly by John Lennon, so perhaps this version is the more appropriate for my list, even had I not already included Stackridge.
13 Who - Won't Get Fooled Again . . . There was bound to be a Who song in my list, and for me this one is their finest hour. Originally on "Who's Next", this is a protest song that exposes the futility of revolution, and tells of how the hopes and dreams we take with us are never realised. Pete Townsend commented that he wanted to make clear that the centre of his life was not for sale to the highest bidder. The last two lines, "Meet the new boss / same as the old boss" just sum it all up.
14 Bob Dylan - Subterranean Homesick Blues . . . Hard to choose which Dylan song, but this says so much so tellingly, and with a wry smile, about human interaction and city life that it has to get my vote over, say, "Like a Rolling Stone" or "Tangled Up in Blue".
15 Eric Clapton - Autumn Leaves . . . Off his 2010 album, this version of the Johnny Mercer song is, I think, beautifully expressed. Clapton as a singer has often been underrated, not least I guess by himself, and there is, needless to say, some beautiful and poignant guitar work.
16 Cream - Badge . . . This Clapton/Harrison song from 'Goodbye' is just special for me, and maybe I find more in the lyrics than its composers put there! But it reads like a song about discontinuity and separation, where one person in a relationship is drifting away. The image I have is of Alzheimer's . . . I picture one partner visiting the other in some nursing home, and telling stories about the world outside that are no longer really heard or understood.
17 Wonderstuff - The Size of a Cow . . . This may well come under the heading of 'Guilty Pleasures', but for me this is just the perfect pop song (from 1991 I think).
18 REM - Daysleeper . . . Again, one of several candidates, and alienation is once more in the frame. Michael Stipe speaks about seeing the label 'Daysleeper' on the door of an apartment in New York. The night shift worker invisible through the day, emerging to inhabit an alternative world of isolation and fluorescent lighting . . .
19 Deacon Blue - Loaded . . . Their second single, and not a chart hit, but a strong song with lyrics that expose the shallowness, I think, of a life defined by material wealth and possessions - think rich men and eyes of needles . . .
20 Tom Waits - Tom Traubert's Blues (Waltzing Matilda) . . . I bought Rod Stewart's version of this song in 1992, and he performs it well, but it can't compare with Waits' original, and his distinctive wrecked-by-bourbon vocal style. Written after a visit to skid row, and in memoriam, it's said, of a friend who died in prison, it is such a powerful song: 'waltzing Matilda' in Australian slang means to go walkabout, but Waits also comments that most of those on skid row are there because of a woman: "There's a battered old suitcase / in a hotel someplace / and a wound that can never heal".
11 Leonard Cohen - Tower of Song . . . This stark song, so rich in imagery, just grabs me more than any of the rest of his work. I seem to be drawn to songs that are, in some form, about alienation - but maybe that's true anyway of much of the best lyrical work.
12 Korgis - Something About The Beatles . . . I may be cheating here a little, as this song was I think originally released by Stackridge (on 'Something For The Weekend' 1999). It was recorded and released as a single by the Korgis in 2006, and, not surprisingly given the presence of Andy Davis and James Warren in both bands, the two versions sound very similar. The Korgis were strongly influenced by the Beatles and particularly by John Lennon, so perhaps this version is the more appropriate for my list, even had I not already included Stackridge.
13 Who - Won't Get Fooled Again . . . There was bound to be a Who song in my list, and for me this one is their finest hour. Originally on "Who's Next", this is a protest song that exposes the futility of revolution, and tells of how the hopes and dreams we take with us are never realised. Pete Townsend commented that he wanted to make clear that the centre of his life was not for sale to the highest bidder. The last two lines, "Meet the new boss / same as the old boss" just sum it all up.
14 Bob Dylan - Subterranean Homesick Blues . . . Hard to choose which Dylan song, but this says so much so tellingly, and with a wry smile, about human interaction and city life that it has to get my vote over, say, "Like a Rolling Stone" or "Tangled Up in Blue".
15 Eric Clapton - Autumn Leaves . . . Off his 2010 album, this version of the Johnny Mercer song is, I think, beautifully expressed. Clapton as a singer has often been underrated, not least I guess by himself, and there is, needless to say, some beautiful and poignant guitar work.
16 Cream - Badge . . . This Clapton/Harrison song from 'Goodbye' is just special for me, and maybe I find more in the lyrics than its composers put there! But it reads like a song about discontinuity and separation, where one person in a relationship is drifting away. The image I have is of Alzheimer's . . . I picture one partner visiting the other in some nursing home, and telling stories about the world outside that are no longer really heard or understood.
17 Wonderstuff - The Size of a Cow . . . This may well come under the heading of 'Guilty Pleasures', but for me this is just the perfect pop song (from 1991 I think).
18 REM - Daysleeper . . . Again, one of several candidates, and alienation is once more in the frame. Michael Stipe speaks about seeing the label 'Daysleeper' on the door of an apartment in New York. The night shift worker invisible through the day, emerging to inhabit an alternative world of isolation and fluorescent lighting . . .
19 Deacon Blue - Loaded . . . Their second single, and not a chart hit, but a strong song with lyrics that expose the shallowness, I think, of a life defined by material wealth and possessions - think rich men and eyes of needles . . .
20 Tom Waits - Tom Traubert's Blues (Waltzing Matilda) . . . I bought Rod Stewart's version of this song in 1992, and he performs it well, but it can't compare with Waits' original, and his distinctive wrecked-by-bourbon vocal style. Written after a visit to skid row, and in memoriam, it's said, of a friend who died in prison, it is such a powerful song: 'waltzing Matilda' in Australian slang means to go walkabout, but Waits also comments that most of those on skid row are there because of a woman: "There's a battered old suitcase / in a hotel someplace / and a wound that can never heal".
Thought For The Week
Rules are made for the guidance of wise men and the obedience of fools.
Douglas Bader
Douglas Bader
Sunday 25 December 2011
All Over Bar The Washing Up
. . . and time for a walk before that, on what might just be the mildest Christmas Day on record. I've attended some lovely Christmas services, and enjoyed more than perhaps I should not having to lead and prepare them. Having said that, the little choir I helped organise at Chirbury sang wonderfully (more their credit than mine) at a very well attended lessons and carols on Friday.
Christmas Day is always my day in the kitchen: turkey, nut roast, a cranberry and port sauce, new and roast potatoes, honey glazed roast parsnips, butternut squash, sweet potato, peas, Brussels sprouts (sorry, sprout haters, my favourite vegetable, despite the after effects!), then pud and custard (couldn't be bothered with brandy sauce). All rather good, though I say so myself - and an agreeable glass or two of red helped. So now to walk a bit of it off!
And to reflect on the message of the day, with John Betjeman's familiar words in mind: ". . . that God was man in Palestine / and lives today in bread and wine."
Christmas Day is always my day in the kitchen: turkey, nut roast, a cranberry and port sauce, new and roast potatoes, honey glazed roast parsnips, butternut squash, sweet potato, peas, Brussels sprouts (sorry, sprout haters, my favourite vegetable, despite the after effects!), then pud and custard (couldn't be bothered with brandy sauce). All rather good, though I say so myself - and an agreeable glass or two of red helped. So now to walk a bit of it off!
And to reflect on the message of the day, with John Betjeman's familiar words in mind: ". . . that God was man in Palestine / and lives today in bread and wine."
Saturday 24 December 2011
Christmas Song
(It is set to music; only the lyrics here, though, I'm afraid . . .)
There are brown tyre treads in the virgin snow
and your skin turns blue in the cold wind's blow,
ah but you ain't got nowhere else to go,
and you're on your own on these streets, lady,
you're on your own down here.
There's no shepherds in these parts, my dear,
there’s no herald angels singing clear,
and the wise men stay home for a warm and a beer,
and you're on your own on these streets, lady,
you're on your own down here.
The sky is black and there ain't no stars,
and the only lights are the cruising cars
and the neon signs of those downbeat bars,
and you're on your own on these streets, lady,
you're on your own down here.
Yet I remember a night in a time of old
when the sky exploded in burning gold,
and the songs were sung and the stories told,
and the earth and the heaven were a single fold,
and they called these streets salvation, lady,
this place was Bethlehem.
There are brown tyre treads in the virgin snow
and your skin turns blue in the cold wind's blow,
ah but you ain't got nowhere else to go,
and you're on your own on these streets, lady,
you're on your own down here.
There's no shepherds in these parts, my dear,
there’s no herald angels singing clear,
and the wise men stay home for a warm and a beer,
and you're on your own on these streets, lady,
you're on your own down here.
The sky is black and there ain't no stars,
and the only lights are the cruising cars
and the neon signs of those downbeat bars,
and you're on your own on these streets, lady,
you're on your own down here.
Yet I remember a night in a time of old
when the sky exploded in burning gold,
and the songs were sung and the stories told,
and the earth and the heaven were a single fold,
and they called these streets salvation, lady,
this place was Bethlehem.
Thursday 22 December 2011
Top Ten
For no particular reason other than it seemed like a good idea when I was lying awake the other night with a bad back (I fell on the ice), I've decided to share my all-time (ish) top ten favourite songs with that part of the world that glances occasionally at these pages. So here goes:
1 Pink Floyd - High Hopes . . . a great song, the last track I think on 'Division Bell', itself their final original album, and Dave Gilmour at his best. The lyrics strike to the heart, as does the closing guitar solo.
2 Bruce Springsteen - I Wish I Were Blind . . . apologies to those who prefer his work with the E Street Band, but this song from 'Human Touch' is to my mind this is one of his very finest. Well crafted lyrics to tug at the heartstrings, and some understated but excellent guitar work.
3 Beatles - Fool On The Hill . . . it's always difficult to choose a favourite Beatles song, but I go for story songs, and lyrics that don't always follow expected paths, and I like the slightly off-key penny whistle.
4 Beach Boys - Heroes And Villains . . . a close call for me between this one and 'God Only Knows', but the superb use of harmony shades it for this track, part of the 'Smiley Smile' project.
5 Stackridge - The Last Plimsoll . . . a track from the George Martin produced 'Man in the Bowler Hat' LP. There's so much of their stuff I like, but Mutter Slater's manic flute and the cleverness of the lyrics puts this one firmly in the frame.
6 Fairport Convention - Who Knows Where The Time Goes . . . this is just a wonderful and hopeful song, and the catch in Sandy Denny's voice as she sings the final chorus gets me every time.
7 Ray Davies - Working Man's Cafe . . . I wondered about 'Waterloo Sunset' or 'Autumn Almanac', but I love the wistfulness of these lyrics. The way things change, and that sense of having lost forever something important, something of the soul, is a constant in Ray Davies' lyrics. The version I have of this song is the recording with the Crouch End Festival Chorus, and is very beautifully scored.
8 Martyn Joseph - Kindness . . . from the album 'Vegas', a song that manages to convey something of the desolation of street life (in Toronto), the ache of separation from loved ones and that deep-hearted humanitarian longing one can have that somehow a wand could be waved to make everything all right.
9 Eagles - Desperado . . . a very strong Frey/Henley song from the album of the same name, with lyrics full of meaning, and a theme of the separation a man might choose for himself without really meaning or wanting to - it's just that, somehow, that's where we find ourselves, that's what we've come to.
10 Paul Simon - Rene and Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After The War . . . again, there are many songs I could have chosen, but there's something about the wistfulness of this song, inspired I think by an old photograph, that gets to me. That sense of lostness, is it, when a boundary has been crossed, when bridges are burned, when you can no longer go back?
1 Pink Floyd - High Hopes . . . a great song, the last track I think on 'Division Bell', itself their final original album, and Dave Gilmour at his best. The lyrics strike to the heart, as does the closing guitar solo.
2 Bruce Springsteen - I Wish I Were Blind . . . apologies to those who prefer his work with the E Street Band, but this song from 'Human Touch' is to my mind this is one of his very finest. Well crafted lyrics to tug at the heartstrings, and some understated but excellent guitar work.
3 Beatles - Fool On The Hill . . . it's always difficult to choose a favourite Beatles song, but I go for story songs, and lyrics that don't always follow expected paths, and I like the slightly off-key penny whistle.
4 Beach Boys - Heroes And Villains . . . a close call for me between this one and 'God Only Knows', but the superb use of harmony shades it for this track, part of the 'Smiley Smile' project.
5 Stackridge - The Last Plimsoll . . . a track from the George Martin produced 'Man in the Bowler Hat' LP. There's so much of their stuff I like, but Mutter Slater's manic flute and the cleverness of the lyrics puts this one firmly in the frame.
6 Fairport Convention - Who Knows Where The Time Goes . . . this is just a wonderful and hopeful song, and the catch in Sandy Denny's voice as she sings the final chorus gets me every time.
7 Ray Davies - Working Man's Cafe . . . I wondered about 'Waterloo Sunset' or 'Autumn Almanac', but I love the wistfulness of these lyrics. The way things change, and that sense of having lost forever something important, something of the soul, is a constant in Ray Davies' lyrics. The version I have of this song is the recording with the Crouch End Festival Chorus, and is very beautifully scored.
8 Martyn Joseph - Kindness . . . from the album 'Vegas', a song that manages to convey something of the desolation of street life (in Toronto), the ache of separation from loved ones and that deep-hearted humanitarian longing one can have that somehow a wand could be waved to make everything all right.
9 Eagles - Desperado . . . a very strong Frey/Henley song from the album of the same name, with lyrics full of meaning, and a theme of the separation a man might choose for himself without really meaning or wanting to - it's just that, somehow, that's where we find ourselves, that's what we've come to.
10 Paul Simon - Rene and Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After The War . . . again, there are many songs I could have chosen, but there's something about the wistfulness of this song, inspired I think by an old photograph, that gets to me. That sense of lostness, is it, when a boundary has been crossed, when bridges are burned, when you can no longer go back?
Tuesday 20 December 2011
Rain
I love rain. Typing these thoughts now of an evening, at my desk in the conservatory, I find the gentle pattering of rain on the roof very comforting. Scripture tells us that "the rain falls on the just and on the unjust," and it's easy for us to interpret this as being about the distribution of life's problems and reverses (or so I suppose, as I see how few people around me seem to share my love of rain!). And it can be a sort of comfort to know that bad people have sad times too, in a similar way to the times when you're told to "look around, you'll always see someone worse off than yourself".
Working years ago for a missionary organisation, I heard the story of a head office staff member waiting to meet a mission partner arriving from West Africa, I think from Senegal. It was a grey and rainy day, and when they met, my colleague felt moved to apologise for the British weather. "Goodness, don't apologise," replied his African visitor, "this is wonderful!"
Though I live high on the hillside, I'm aware of course that the rain can bring some problems - we can see when the river far below us breaks out of its usual course, and how heavy the traffic gets on the one road into town from that direction that doesn't get closed by the floods. My farming friends are unhappy too when the rain disrupts their working plans for the week, or makes the grazing fields too soft and muddy for the cattle. But they've been less happy still through most of this year, because there has been so little rain, and the land has been much too dry.
Farmers seem rarely to be happy with the prevailing weather at the best of times, I know - but too dry is worse than too wet I think, and rain in the Bible is always a sign of blessing, not reproach. That the rain falls on the just and on the unjust expresses a wonderful truth that we too often overlook in our readiness to moan and complain: that God blesses liberally both those who seek his blessing and those who turn from him or fail to see him. We are surrounded by signs of his love and care. Be aware of them!
Monday 19 December 2011
Thought for the Week
To the world you might be one person, but to one person you might be the world.
Flying
A good day today; a good and gentle day. Some days are just like that - there's nothing special about them, no particular treats or pleasures, but a sense of things working out, going well, making sense that permeates through. A feelgood day, in other words.
As we approach the shortest day and not long after it the ending of another year, I find myself reminded all too forcibly of some very low points, some very frightening times, some times of searing and debilitating pain. But there've also been some celebration times, some amazing moments with the world around me all in fiesta mode. These are the times that, looking back, I shall remember in detail, for good or bad.
But the days that carry me through, that keep me going, are the days like today, the days that happen and get forgotten, whose contents don't become fixed in the memory because of ecstatic highs or crushing lows; days though when the world feels right to me, and I have been able to feel right within it.
With that thought in mind, I find myself pondering over the ministry we can have to one another. Someone once said - I don't remember who - that the mark of a really great teacher or leader is that those he or she has mentored will be able to say of their work, "I did this on my own!" Our best offering to the world is to do things that - though they won't be remembered for themselves, or cause our own names to be blazed in lights - just carry others forward, give them hope, allow them to feel good about themselves.
One thing, then, for me to take from today and maybe even to take into my New Year resolutions (if and when I make any) is this: it's not about me. It's not about me in the spotlight, me being noticed, approved, applauded. It is about what I can give; after all, so much has been given for me. "What can I give Him, poor as I am . . ."
As we approach the shortest day and not long after it the ending of another year, I find myself reminded all too forcibly of some very low points, some very frightening times, some times of searing and debilitating pain. But there've also been some celebration times, some amazing moments with the world around me all in fiesta mode. These are the times that, looking back, I shall remember in detail, for good or bad.
But the days that carry me through, that keep me going, are the days like today, the days that happen and get forgotten, whose contents don't become fixed in the memory because of ecstatic highs or crushing lows; days though when the world feels right to me, and I have been able to feel right within it.
With that thought in mind, I find myself pondering over the ministry we can have to one another. Someone once said - I don't remember who - that the mark of a really great teacher or leader is that those he or she has mentored will be able to say of their work, "I did this on my own!" Our best offering to the world is to do things that - though they won't be remembered for themselves, or cause our own names to be blazed in lights - just carry others forward, give them hope, allow them to feel good about themselves.
One thing, then, for me to take from today and maybe even to take into my New Year resolutions (if and when I make any) is this: it's not about me. It's not about me in the spotlight, me being noticed, approved, applauded. It is about what I can give; after all, so much has been given for me. "What can I give Him, poor as I am . . ."
Thursday 15 December 2011
Retreat House Sparrows
As I sit listening to the chirping of our local sparrows, a delight in these gardens, I'm minded to post a poem I wrote some years ago, on a quiet day in south Shropshire.
The silence of this holy place
is being pleasantly disturbed, sparrows,
by your constant conversation.
I sit in the sun below your eaves
chasing words down the pages
of my book. Your distracting voices
had been the familiar background
to all my growing years, but now
I hardly hear you in the streets and squares
that were once your certain home.
You were ordinary then, you chirping sparrows -
but now my heart aches just to hear you.
Back then I thought your plumage dull and grey:
today I understand the true beauty
of your dress. So much we lose when we fail to see
God's loveliness in the everyday,
God's grace in our neighbours and familiars.
Common sparrows, you were always special-blessed,
had I just seen it;
and I thank my God that on this gentle day
you chirp and chirrup as his angels
bearing his message for my soul's good.
The silence of this holy place
is being pleasantly disturbed, sparrows,
by your constant conversation.
I sit in the sun below your eaves
chasing words down the pages
of my book. Your distracting voices
had been the familiar background
to all my growing years, but now
I hardly hear you in the streets and squares
that were once your certain home.
You were ordinary then, you chirping sparrows -
but now my heart aches just to hear you.
Back then I thought your plumage dull and grey:
today I understand the true beauty
of your dress. So much we lose when we fail to see
God's loveliness in the everyday,
God's grace in our neighbours and familiars.
Common sparrows, you were always special-blessed,
had I just seen it;
and I thank my God that on this gentle day
you chirp and chirrup as his angels
bearing his message for my soul's good.
Lovely
A beautiful morning so far, cold but clear, with bright sunshine making the wet rooftops glisten and illuminating the wisps of smoke moving across the valley below. Starlings are chattering to one another somewhere out of my sight, and blue tits are prospecting through the tangled ivy on the trellis outside our conservatory. Yellow-edged clouds are moving briskly across the Long Mountain, and I don't suppose we shall escape without rain. There's plenty to do today: the last Christmas cards to deliver, a lunch with friends, a session singing carols at a local residential home, and some accounts that have to be tied up and sent off this week (or else) . . . but for the moment, I'm happy just to sit and watch the morning unfold.
These are the best moments, I think; the times of blessing, in which our souls are fed and watered. The times when, whether alone or with friends, we are able just to be still, to watch and listen, to feel the rhythms of the world around us. Times when we see the intrinsic beauties and joys that are always present in the stuff we normally just overlook or take for granted. The times when we simply have the time. Thank God for them, they are what he gives us; all we have to do is to accept, and use . . .
Tuesday 13 December 2011
Goodness, no "Thought for the Week" yet!
You know you are living in modern times when you have a list of twenty phone numbers to reach your four children . . .
Saturday 10 December 2011
The Christmas Rose
A rose there springs from tender root,
Christ-bearer, hailed in songs of old,
the flower of God's eternal love,
a new flame lit in winter's cold.
When half-spent was the silent night,
the rose foretold by prophets' tongue
give birth to one named Prince of Peace,
whose alleluias gladly sung
by angels in the frosty skies
brought shepherds to the manger-bed
to worship him; as so do we.
The Christmas rose in white and red,
bright in the darkness of these times
is sign for us of Mary's Grace -
Light of the World, of her new-born,
reflects in her so gentle face.
Thursday 8 December 2011
Spider
As I clean out a corner of the shed
I am surprised to see one piece of dust and fluff
scuttling away from my brush.
It is a spider making her dash for freedom,
horrified - I suppose - at what
I have done to her world.
And I find that I am sorry;
I did not mean to tidy your home
out of existence, girl,
I think, as I let her go.
I watch as she squeezes her way
back into the dark crack in the corner slats
in which, I assume, she has made her home.
Meanwhile, a little fluff, dislodged in the process,
remains
and I leave it there.
I do like things to be neat and clean,
but this is her space too
and there is surely room to share.
I am surprised to see one piece of dust and fluff
scuttling away from my brush.
It is a spider making her dash for freedom,
horrified - I suppose - at what
I have done to her world.
And I find that I am sorry;
I did not mean to tidy your home
out of existence, girl,
I think, as I let her go.
I watch as she squeezes her way
back into the dark crack in the corner slats
in which, I assume, she has made her home.
Meanwhile, a little fluff, dislodged in the process,
remains
and I leave it there.
I do like things to be neat and clean,
but this is her space too
and there is surely room to share.
Just enough light
This is a dark time of the year, and today has been a wild, windy and rainy day (though nowhere near as bad as it has been in some other parts of the UK). It always seems to me as I find myself in the dark days of December, that to do even the basic things I need to in order to get through the day requires special concentration and effort. It would be good to have a little more space, a little more light. It would be good not to have a tension headache and the beginnings of a seasonal cold!
But the fact is that, on our life journey, there will always be those wintry times when all we can hope to do is to struggle on, and to make our best fist of just keeping on the road. When I hit that sort of patch, the most I can hope and pray for is to be given enough light to take the next few steps. I'm just back from carol practice, and in joyous words and music we have been singing the praises of the one called Light of the World. As we read Luke's account of his coming, we find that the skies were filled with light and with songs of glory, as shepherds watched dumbfounded in the place where they had penned their sheep. But that was only shepherds, and they never counted for much. The rest of the world, even the quiet and unimportant city of Bethlehem, slept on unregarding. The manner of our Lord's arrival identifies him with those in our world who are pushed to the edge, those who struggle in dark places, the humble and the meek.
When I pray to God for light, for even just enough light for now, I know that I am praying to one who understands the darkness, who understands the edge places, who is there with the outcast, the strugglers, the downhearted, the dispirited and the browbeaten of our world. God knows what it's like to be me. That sentence could just be a cry of despair, a way of saying that nobody cares, nobody can help. But for me as Christmas approaches it is the opposite, as I think of and pray to the Babe of Bethlehem: God does know what it's like to be me, and we will hear me when I call. And I may not have much light to walk by, but I will have enough, if I am searching out his way; enough for myself, and I trust, a little bit to share with those around me whose way is also dark.
But the fact is that, on our life journey, there will always be those wintry times when all we can hope to do is to struggle on, and to make our best fist of just keeping on the road. When I hit that sort of patch, the most I can hope and pray for is to be given enough light to take the next few steps. I'm just back from carol practice, and in joyous words and music we have been singing the praises of the one called Light of the World. As we read Luke's account of his coming, we find that the skies were filled with light and with songs of glory, as shepherds watched dumbfounded in the place where they had penned their sheep. But that was only shepherds, and they never counted for much. The rest of the world, even the quiet and unimportant city of Bethlehem, slept on unregarding. The manner of our Lord's arrival identifies him with those in our world who are pushed to the edge, those who struggle in dark places, the humble and the meek.
When I pray to God for light, for even just enough light for now, I know that I am praying to one who understands the darkness, who understands the edge places, who is there with the outcast, the strugglers, the downhearted, the dispirited and the browbeaten of our world. God knows what it's like to be me. That sentence could just be a cry of despair, a way of saying that nobody cares, nobody can help. But for me as Christmas approaches it is the opposite, as I think of and pray to the Babe of Bethlehem: God does know what it's like to be me, and we will hear me when I call. And I may not have much light to walk by, but I will have enough, if I am searching out his way; enough for myself, and I trust, a little bit to share with those around me whose way is also dark.
Tuesday 6 December 2011
Starling
I have selected the starling (see my earlier post, below) as the theme for this month's nature notes:
Tidying up a friend’s garden the other day, I was distracted by the noise of starlings on the nearby housetops. These are familiar urban birds, and still one of our commonest species - though, as we shall see later, numbers have been falling. You are more likely to see numbers of starlings in winter, as their population is greatly increased by winter migrants from continental Europe.
Starlings are great mimics, and the variety of sounds coming from the group near where I was gardening was quite entertaining. They are lively, quick-witted birds, exploiting a variety of food sources, though they are mostly insect-eaters. They are the tough guys of the bird-table world, argumentative and loud, and when a squad arrives, everyone else gets pushed out.
Winter starlings are quite spotty, especially on the breast - more than in summer - because the new feathers acquired in the autumn moult are tipped with white. The somewhat scraggy throat feathers which stick out when starlings are calling give it a rather raffish ‘lad-about-town’ image. A long narrow bill, black in winter but yellow in summer, allows the starling to dig very efficiently for grubs, worms and subterranean insects, and flocks are found with redwings and fieldfares in winter fields.
The starling is a bird of Europe and Asia, but it has been introduced to, for example, North America, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. Its lively and rather combative style makes it a somewhat unwelcome addition to the fauna of these places, as it competes successfully against native species for nesting sites and food sources, as well as being a problem for farmers and fruit-growers.
In the UK, especially in England, starling numbers have fallen a lot in recent years - perhaps to the order of an 80% decline. It is hard to be sure why this has happened, and there is probably no single factor to blame. While our garden bird feeders tend to exclude starlings in favour of ‘nicer’ birds like blue tits and robins, and there have been serious attempts to drive starlings out of the city centres where they often roosted in some numbers on building ledges, one important reason for decline is likely to be the fall in the number of small mixed farms and the amount of permanent pasture, an important winter food source for starlings.
Nonetheless, in the right place - marshlands and estuaries, for example - it is still possible to see huge winter flocks, known as murmurations, reaching their height at about sunset, as starlings gather to roost in numbers, twisting and turning across each other in flight like smoke against the sky. In Scandinavia this effect is called the ‘black sun’. Such large flocks inevitably attract the attention of predators like sparrow hawks and peregrines, though at the same time to gather in such numbers provides a safer environment for each individual bird.
Tidying up a friend’s garden the other day, I was distracted by the noise of starlings on the nearby housetops. These are familiar urban birds, and still one of our commonest species - though, as we shall see later, numbers have been falling. You are more likely to see numbers of starlings in winter, as their population is greatly increased by winter migrants from continental Europe.
Starlings are great mimics, and the variety of sounds coming from the group near where I was gardening was quite entertaining. They are lively, quick-witted birds, exploiting a variety of food sources, though they are mostly insect-eaters. They are the tough guys of the bird-table world, argumentative and loud, and when a squad arrives, everyone else gets pushed out.
Winter starlings are quite spotty, especially on the breast - more than in summer - because the new feathers acquired in the autumn moult are tipped with white. The somewhat scraggy throat feathers which stick out when starlings are calling give it a rather raffish ‘lad-about-town’ image. A long narrow bill, black in winter but yellow in summer, allows the starling to dig very efficiently for grubs, worms and subterranean insects, and flocks are found with redwings and fieldfares in winter fields.
The starling is a bird of Europe and Asia, but it has been introduced to, for example, North America, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. Its lively and rather combative style makes it a somewhat unwelcome addition to the fauna of these places, as it competes successfully against native species for nesting sites and food sources, as well as being a problem for farmers and fruit-growers.
In the UK, especially in England, starling numbers have fallen a lot in recent years - perhaps to the order of an 80% decline. It is hard to be sure why this has happened, and there is probably no single factor to blame. While our garden bird feeders tend to exclude starlings in favour of ‘nicer’ birds like blue tits and robins, and there have been serious attempts to drive starlings out of the city centres where they often roosted in some numbers on building ledges, one important reason for decline is likely to be the fall in the number of small mixed farms and the amount of permanent pasture, an important winter food source for starlings.
Nonetheless, in the right place - marshlands and estuaries, for example - it is still possible to see huge winter flocks, known as murmurations, reaching their height at about sunset, as starlings gather to roost in numbers, twisting and turning across each other in flight like smoke against the sky. In Scandinavia this effect is called the ‘black sun’. Such large flocks inevitably attract the attention of predators like sparrow hawks and peregrines, though at the same time to gather in such numbers provides a safer environment for each individual bird.
There's Always One
Sitting at my computer and gazing out of the window to the rooftops of the next row down the hill from our street, I noticed a little group of six starlings clinging to the topmost branches of an ash tree. The group word for starlings is 'murmuration', but, given the way that word is used of the vast wheeling flocks that can be seen at this time of the year, for example, along the lower reaches of the Severn by Gloucester, this little band hardly qualified, I felt.
As I watched, one starling took off and flew rapidly away, and the next four along immediately followed on. One last starling, however, stayed where he, or she, was - looking a little restless, shifting from twig to twig, but not leaving the tree. Why, I wondered . . . these are birds with a strong natural inclination to flock together, after all.
But there's always one, I suppose, in the starling world as in our human society; and thank God for them. I mean the odd ones out who don't necessarily do just as everyone else does, don't find the same need to conform or to seek approval, see further than others do and notice different things, and are alive and alert to issues, problems and dangers that the rest of us overlook. Society may sometimes make fun of such people, and at other times may persecute them; but we ignore the odd ones out at our peril, for it is from within these oddball types that our prophetic voices arise.
My solo starling took its time, but eventually took flight in the same direction as the others. Perhaps he or she had been spying out the land more carefully, or maybe this bird had wanted to think through the pros and cons of moving trees for herself, rather than just copying the others. It occurs to me that while those who do not go along with the human crowd may present a challenge or corrective to what the crowd decide or do, it is equally the case that they may provide confirmation that a decision made was right and good - and that either way, they provide a useful service to us all.
Monday 5 December 2011
Sunday 4 December 2011
Figures
I'm busy trawling through some pages of figures just now. I quite enjoy working with figures, sorting out accounts; adding down, adding across, checking things match, that totals agree. It's frustrating when they don't, on the many occasions when something's been missed or mis-recorded, but then again, it's immensely satisfying when you find the mistake and correct it, and when things balance again.
Often, I've found a mistake and corrected it only to discover that the correction takes me in the wrong direction, and that the discrepancy after making it is greater than before. At first sight, that can be quite disconcerting, but in fact it's a necessary part of a larger process, in which it's good to have managed to remove one mistake that was in fact hiding another - or even more than one other.
As we assess the world around us, we're all too often looking for a single source of problem, a single person or organisation to take the blame for whatever it is offends or displeases us. "It's all the fault of . . ." we say (fill in the gap - the European Union, the government, the bankers, the bosses, the trade unions - we've all taken aim at one of those sometime or another, I should think). Reality is much more complex; the obvious targets are not the only people to have messed up, mistakes are made by many people, on many sides, and it's generally true that cock-up is a bigger factor in the way things work than conspiracy. And anyway, is it only 'they', whoever 'they' may be, who need to take responsibility?
Jesus famously (John 8) came across people all too ready to throw stones, and to lay the blame. It's the one place in scripture where he is described as having written something, though we're not told what it was he wrote (in the dust, at his feet). What he said was this: "Let the one among you who is without sin cast the first stone." And the crowd dispersed. I'm certainly in no position to cast stones. Are you?
Often, I've found a mistake and corrected it only to discover that the correction takes me in the wrong direction, and that the discrepancy after making it is greater than before. At first sight, that can be quite disconcerting, but in fact it's a necessary part of a larger process, in which it's good to have managed to remove one mistake that was in fact hiding another - or even more than one other.
As we assess the world around us, we're all too often looking for a single source of problem, a single person or organisation to take the blame for whatever it is offends or displeases us. "It's all the fault of . . ." we say (fill in the gap - the European Union, the government, the bankers, the bosses, the trade unions - we've all taken aim at one of those sometime or another, I should think). Reality is much more complex; the obvious targets are not the only people to have messed up, mistakes are made by many people, on many sides, and it's generally true that cock-up is a bigger factor in the way things work than conspiracy. And anyway, is it only 'they', whoever 'they' may be, who need to take responsibility?
Jesus famously (John 8) came across people all too ready to throw stones, and to lay the blame. It's the one place in scripture where he is described as having written something, though we're not told what it was he wrote (in the dust, at his feet). What he said was this: "Let the one among you who is without sin cast the first stone." And the crowd dispersed. I'm certainly in no position to cast stones. Are you?
Saturday 3 December 2011
Flatpack
Putting it all together
you need to be sure that you have read through
and understand every page.
Count things up, and make completely sure
you really have all the things you are supposed to have.
Please note that you will need a variety of tools,
and they are not provided.
For your safety and peace of mind
wear suitable clothing and protection.
Putting it all together
you need to have got into the head of the designer
and artificer.
You will find you need to be thinking as they think.
You will find that the instructions on their own
are not enough.
Putting it all together
you will need to put everything else aside.
You will need a clear head,
an open mind,
a sure hand.
You will need not to lose your nerve.
Putting it all together:
it’s a vision thing, really.
If you can see it, you may have got it,
and if you can’t, you never will.
you need to be sure that you have read through
and understand every page.
Count things up, and make completely sure
you really have all the things you are supposed to have.
Please note that you will need a variety of tools,
and they are not provided.
For your safety and peace of mind
wear suitable clothing and protection.
Putting it all together
you need to have got into the head of the designer
and artificer.
You will find you need to be thinking as they think.
You will find that the instructions on their own
are not enough.
Putting it all together
you will need to put everything else aside.
You will need a clear head,
an open mind,
a sure hand.
You will need not to lose your nerve.
Putting it all together:
it’s a vision thing, really.
If you can see it, you may have got it,
and if you can’t, you never will.
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