Advent: Plant Yourself at the Gates of Hope

"The Sun Versus the Moon"

What do you think is most valuable to us the sun or the moon?

Well interestingly the wise fool Nasrudin was once asked this question and this was his reply.

Nasrudin: “Well, the sun is out during the daytime when there is light. The moon, on the other hand, provides light during the night when it’s dark. Thus, the moon is obviously much more valuable.”

Good old Nasrudin the holy fool the bringer of un-common sense. Now I know some of you are thinking what a ridiculous thing to say but please do look beyond the obvious here. Please put aside your literal faculties. There is a deep truth here. Light is a priceless commodity during times of darkness but of far less value when it is already light.

“Under the cover of darkness the moon was laughing at the sun, you can’t outshine me here”

A single flame, a simple light is of immense value in the dark, but is of no use when the light of the world is shinning oh so bright. One single light has to capacity to illuminate darkness, for a light shone in the dark and the darkness did not overcome it. We need more light, more hope in the winter time, winter is here.

“And I’ll give you hope, when hope is hard to find and I’ll bring a song of love and a rose in the winter time.”

I fell in love with this hymn many years ago, it was at the time that our oldest brother, our Allen was dying. Our Mandy told me that she had visited him in the hospice and as she left she saw a single rose in the garden. I reckon it was a peace rose from her description as it is hardy rose that can survive anything, including winter. There it was offering her hope in the winter both seasonally and the heart of our family. I shared the hymn “Rose in the Winter Time” with her, it has given us great meaning ever since, deep hope. I share it with many folk in times of despair, when they need a little light in the dark times. You don’t really need it when you are walking, even dancing in the sunlight of the spirit. I like to plant a rose, plant myself at the gates of hope. It helps to keep us through the night.

In another piece from Victoria Safford on hope she related being told by a psychiatrist at college who had recently lost a woman to suicide humbly admitting “You know I cannot save them. I am not here to save anybody or to save the world. All I can do — what I am called to do — is to plant myself at the gates of Hope. Sometimes they come in; sometimes they walk by. But I stand there every day and I call out till my lungs are sore with calling, and beckon and urge them in toward beautiful life and love…”

We are here to plant ourselves at the gates of hope. To shine some light in the dark places of this our world.

Have you ever met someone who has just powerfully affected you, to the core of their being, a person who just exudes pure love. A person who shone like the brightest of light. I have met a few people in my life who just had this profound effect on me. Some I met just briefly, others I knew for periods of time, some decades. I have been thinking of a few of those souls in recent months. I have been remembering many souls who have touched my life. The last 18 months seem to have been one of constant grief. I have lost so many folk, from all aspects of my life. It has weighed heavy on me at times. These last few weeks this has led me to think of the lives that have touched me, especially those who planted themselves at the gates of hope. Those that lit the flame of hope by just being themselves. Those lights that shone in the darkness and the darkness and the darkness did not overcome them

Now I could talk of ordinary examples and there are many, but I would like to tell you about a better known one. I have spoken of her before. She is one from my childhood, who I met a few years ago. This is Baroness Floella Benjamin. I fell in love with her as little boy in the 1970’s as she took us through the windows of “Playschool”. For those younger than me “Playschool” was a children’s television program in the 1970’s. Floella has lived an incredible life and was made a life peer a few years ago. I met her when I was asked to attend a parliamentary forum on “Men’s Health”. She listened intently as I spoke and then she approached me and asked if she could hug me. I of course obliged. It was the most incredibly loving experience I have ever known. It was pure love. She exudes this incredible spirit. She is famous for her hugs and I now know why. Floella Benjamin is someone who plants herself at the gates of hope. She lifts people. There is nothing cynical about her. She embodies what it means to live as we are capable of living. She encourages others to be the same. She embodies those famous words of Albert Schweitzer

“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”

“oh come you now unto the flame, keep it through the night. Shelter and embrace it’s warmth and keep it’s precious light.”

She is one of those people that lights the flame of hope in others. Is there anything more beautiful in this world. Is there anything more needed in these darkening times. It is certainly true that we are living through dark times. It is winter and we need to find those lights of hope to guide us through. It reminds of those by Victoria Safford that Parker J. Palmer shared in the earlier reading. Rev Victoria Safford serves the White Bear Unitarian Universalist Church in Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA. She said:

“Our mission is to plant ourselves at the gates of hope — not the prudent gates of Optimism, which are somewhat narrower; nor the stalwart, boring gates of Common Sense; nor the strident gates of self-righteousness, which creak on shrill and angry hinges; nor the cheerful, flimsy garden gate of “Everything is gonna be all right,” but a very different, sometimes very lonely place, the place of truth-telling, about your own soul first of all and its condition, the place of resistance and defiance, the piece of ground from which you see the world both as it is and as it could be, as it might be, as it will be; the place from which you glimpse not only struggle, but joy in the struggle — and we stand there, beckoning and calling, telling people what we are seeing, asking people what they see.

Of all the virtues, “hope” is one of the most-needed in our time. When people ask me how I stay hopeful in an era of widespread darkness, I answer simply: “Hope keeps me alive and creatively engaged with the world.”

It keeps me alive and fully engaged too. It draws me on and beyond myself to live alive in this world.

To quote Vaclav Havel “Hope is an orientation of the spirit”, it is something that holds us and sustains us right here right now. It does more than that though, it draws us on, even if at times its light seems dim. It draws me out beyond myself. It helps me, plant myself at the gates of Hope.

It is “Hope” that points towards what we can do, it leads the way. Rather than just sitting there shinning light on all that is ugly and unpleasant, pointing out all that is wrong and riling up ever more anger, hate, division and blame. It saves me from slinging mud at the world. Our world does not need any more of this, not this winter.

I was reminded recently of a couple of friends who I used to name “Statler and Waldorf”. One of them is no longer in my life sadly, the other though is. To some degree I gave them the name in jest, but there is a serious point to all of this.

Now for those who don’t know “Statler and Waldorf” are two characters from Jim Henson’s “The Muppet Show”. The pair don’t really participate in the show and instead sit on the balcony heckling the rest of the characters who are trying to create the show. They are archetypes for all of us who sit back, pour scorn and criticise the efforts of others to do the best that they can. It’s so easy to do this is it not; it is so easy to just to sit back and criticise the best efforts of others while doing nothing ourselves.

Increasingly we seem intent on fault finding and discovering the imperfections in one another. Why do we do this? Do we believe it will help us feel better about ourselves if we pour scorn on the imperfections of others? Maybe, maybe not?!? It is easy to be the critic and shine light on what is wrong, anyone can do that. It is much harder to shine some light in the darkness and show a different way.

The critic is someone who stands at the side taking pot shots at the people who have the courage to stand above the parapet and give themselves to life, to plant themselves at the gates of Hope.

In “The Heart of the Enlightened” Anthony De Mello tells the following story.

“A woman complained to a visiting friend that her neighbour was a poor housekeeper. “You should see how dirty her children are – and her house. It is almost a disgrace to be living in the same neighbourhood as her. Take a look at those clothes she has hung out on the line. See the black streaks on the sheets and towels!”

The friend walked up to the window and said, “I think the clothes are quite clean, my dear. The streaks are on your window.”

This story brings to mind a passage from Matthew’s Gospel (ch 7 vv 1- 12) “Why do you see the speck in your neighbours eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye.” It easy to pass judgement and to find fault in others but is that what our task is? To tear apart everyone else and to point out where they are going wrong? Or is it to make the most of who we are not only for ourselves but for the good of all. Is our task to be the critic who picks apart what others do or is it to contribute to life in whatever ways we can? I for one no longer wish to choose the path of lazy cynicism and criticism. I’d much rather do what I can and risk getting shot down. I would much rather plant myself at the gates of Hope.

It is easy to sling mud, to be a cynic, to highlight all that is wrong. It is harder to plant ourselves at the gates of Hope. To lift others up, to encourage, to live wholly from love. To live like Floella Benjamin.

As you probably know I love dogs. My little dog Molly teaches me so much. Now what you might not know is that there is a school of ancient Greek philosophy named after dogs. Do you know which one? Well, it might surprise you to hear that it was the cynics. How and why? You may well ask? Dogs do not appear to be cynical animals at all. Well, cynicism aint what is used to be.

The best known of cynics was Diogenes. Many of his habits certainly resembled an undomesticated dog. He loved basking naked on the lawn while his fellow philosophers talked on the porch. As they debated the mysteries of the cosmos, Diogenes preferred to soak up some rays.

Diogenes could be found wandering through the streets in the mid-day sun squinting and holding a lantern to find his way, claiming he was “looking for an honest man” He lived in a hollowed out half barrel which he wheeled through the streets. This was his only possession except for a wooden bowl which he destroyed in protest at the fakeness of society after seeing a boy slave drinking water with his cupped hands.

Those ancient cynics protested against society and attempted to mitigate the dangers of hubris. They believed “virtue” was the only good and that self-control was the only means of achieving it. They rejected what they saw as the falseness of the time. They rejected the luxury of home living and personal hygiene and they believed that the best way to get their message across to the general public was to verbally abuse them and expel bodily fluids on them as they went about their daily business. I suspect that the phrase “mud slinging” may have its origins in the original cynics.

The ancient Greeks “cynics” were the critics of their time and place. They pointed out what was wrong. The original “cynics” had a way of bringing the greatest down to the truly humble level, they were an antidote to the hubris of the day. Yes, they had their plus points. That said there were negatives too, it certainly was not a pathway to friendship and community building. It seemed to me to be the ultimate in isolation and individualism. Anyone can be critical of what others are doing, but what about doing something yourself? The cynics never entered the arena, no they slung mud and criticised those who did.

It is easy to be the critic who sneers and throws mud at the person who gives life an honest go, who dares to step into the arena to do good, to do what they can. It says something of our age that one of the worst things a person can be today is a so called “Do-gooder”. Since when is doing good a negative thing? Well in this cynical age it seems.

There is no real satisfaction in sneering at life, just slinging dirt or pointing out the dirt on someone else’s washing or missing the plank in your own eye for the speck in your neighbours. It is easy to be a critic. It is harder to plant ourselves at the gates of Hope. What the world needs right now is less critics and more constructors. That is not to say that we should not be critical. Any healthy society needs those who point ought what can be done better. We need to shine light in the dark places of light. The key is how we do this.

We need to bring hope, when hope is hard to find. To shine some light in darkness of winter. Of all the virtues, “hope” is one of the most-needed in our time. It is Hope that, to quote Parker J. Palmer “keeps me alive and creatively engaged with the world.” When we choose despair and cynicism over hope it is a reflection on the state of our own souls, more than a reflection on the state of the world. It serves no one and it destroys our own souls.

We need to plant ourselves at the gates of Hope.

I look for the examples, for those who shone some light, all those beautiful souls that have touched my soul, many who have gone now, many who are still here, many I have yet to meet. I remember how they lit the flame, how they lit up my heart and soul. How they planted themselves at the gates of Hope and I try and do the same.

So what are you going to do with this one marvelous life you have been given. Are you going to pour scorn, point out all that is wrong, sling dirt, or are you going to plant yourselves at the gates of Hope.

It is up to you, it up us to us all. Our lives depend upon it.

We need to plant ourselves at the gates of Hope.

This Advent season may we plant ourselves like seeds of Hope in the mangers of all our hearts. Let us nurture this this hope and when the moment of magic comes, as it always does on Christmas morning, may we give birth to that love here and now.

Let us shine light on the darkness, let us plant ourselves at the gates of hope.

Please find below a devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

“If the Earth were only a few feet in diameter.” By Joe Miller

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­If the Earth were only a few feet in diameter, floating a few feet above a field somewhere, people would come from everywhere to marvel at it. People would walk around it marvelling at its big pools of water, its little pools and the water flowing between. People would marvel at the bumps on it and the holes in it. They would marvel at the very thin layer of gas surrounding it and the water suspended in the gas. The people would marvel at all the creatures walking around the surface of the ball and at the creatures in the water. The people would declare it as sacred, because it was the only one, and they would protect it so that it would not be hurt. The ball would be the greatest wonder known, and people would come to pray to it, to be healed, to gain knowledge, to know beauty and to wonder how it could be. People would love it and defend it with their lives because they would somehow know that their lives could be nothing without it.

If the Earth were only a few feet in diameter.

Eureka! I’ve got it! I’ve discovered the key to it all! Hard to believe I know. I heard it several times this week. I have the answer to it all. Do you know what it is? Can you guess?

The answer is “Humidity”

Yes, I know it doesn’t sound right, but it came from two of the oracles I know.

One is my friend Robbie’s son Rew. He is a gifted footballer and has recently signed junior forms for Stoke City. His dad asked him how he felt about this and he said he felt “humid”. A strange response you might think. What he meant was humbled.

I was involved in a wonderful conversation on Monday on the subject of humility. How in so many ways it is the key to living spiritually alive. It keeps us grounded, reminds us of finiteness. A friend shared something deeply humble about a struggle she had experienced a few days early. She showed her humanity in her vulnerability. She expressed a deep faith. She also said that that she too sometimes confused the word humility with humidity. She is a wonderful and funny human being, an example to those of us who think we are oh so clever.

I have enjoyed some fascinating and wonderful conversations with a variety of human beings all week. Funny ones too. It has lifted my heart and my spirits at times. Needed too as I heard of the loss of another old friend from back home. It seems to be every week at the moment. Despite what is sometimes said of us, we are a marvel we human beings.

It is an incredible thing to be human, we are fascinating creatures. Even the word human itself is a fascination, or at least it is to me. The word human is formed from the same root as humility, possibily humanity’s greatest attribute. Did you also know that it is closely related to humus and exhume. It makes sense if you think about it.

The root for all of these words is “hum” which originally referred to the earth or dirt. Our earliest forbears perceived that we humans originated from the soil – you would think that this would keep us grounded, but seemingly not - this is made clear in the second creation story found in Genesis II which reads “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” Adam itself is closely related to the word “toadamah” which means soil or earth. There are other ancient creation stories too which associate the origin of humankind with soil or ground. Such as the Sumerian myth of Marduk who created people by killing Qingu and mixing his blood with clay. Or the Greek myths of Decallion and Pyrrha who by throwing rocks over their shoulders created man and woman.

Now while each of us is formed from the same substance we are also all unique. We all have our own unique characteristics. We each of us have our own personalities, our own finger prints, our own DNA. We also have our own faces. No two faces are exactly alike.

Even identical twins can begin to look different over time as life has its impact on us. They are exactly the same and yet they are unique individuals.

I love what Abraham Joshua Heschel said about “A Face”

“A human being has not only a body but also a face. A face cannot be grafted or interchanged. A face is a message, a face speaks, often unbeknown to the person. Is not the human face a living mixture of mystery and meaning? We are all able to see it, and are all unable to describe it. Is it not a strange marvel that among so many hundreds of millions of faces, no two faces are alike? And that no face remains quite the same for more than one instant? The most exposed part of the body, it is the least describable, a synonym for an incarnation of uniqueness. Can we look at a face as if it were a commonplace?”

“Can we look at a face as if it were a commonplace?”

I’ve never been a good liar, never had a poker face. There are advantages and disadvantages to this. My face hides nothing. A person can tell exactly how I am feeling by looking at my face, but then you already know this don’t you. I remember once being asked if I was comedian. I said no to which the man said “Well you have a comedians face.” In fact it has been said again this week. I’m not sure what he meant by this, but I take it as a compliment. I think, apparently I looked like a les Dawson character. I know I have a very descriptive face.

Now going back to etymology and the word human. It has often been incorrectly believed that word humour also shares its root with humanity and humility. Now it would be great if it was, but alas this is not true.

As I’ve pointed out before humour is actually derived from a medieval medical term for fluids of the human body. It is has its roots the ‘old’ French word ‘umere”. Physicians of the day believed that we had four different types of internal fluids that they called ‘humors’ and it was these that determined our physical and mental health. Therefore, if a person became ill it was believed that their “humors” were out of balance. I do so love etymology; language has had such a fascinating journey.

This though doesn’t sound particularly funny though does it?

I do so wish that humour, humility, humus and humanity were etymologically linked. Why? Well because in so many ways one of humanities greatest attributes is our sense of humour. It helps us deal with the pain and suffering that accompany life. It is very difficult to take yourself too seriously when you are laughing at yourself. There was a period in my life when I lost the ability to laugh. It was a sure sign that I had got lost in myself, had begun to reject life. These days I laugh often.

We humans, we creatures formed from the earth, cannot live without humour, just as a plant cannot grow from the soil without the essential ingredient of water.

There a few classic gold moments last Sunday evening when Rob, Robbie and myself went to see New Model Army. Some of which I can’t repeat here. There was even a bit of a “Only Fools and Horses” moment as the three of us ran for the tram. We were laughing at ourselves afterwards. We were in good humour, in good health. Although we are not actually it seems. Not by the state of us after running for the tram.

I’ve been full of songs all week, been great for my soul as I’ve connected with a love. It’s also connected me to old friends, many who are no longer with us.

I’ve been filled with awe at it all, of life itself. Of the generally giftedness of being here at all. It’s been an awful week, in the sense it has been filled with awe. I’ve been thinking of an old New Model Army song “Space” from the album “Purity” It paints a picture of being out lost in the wilds. There are Biblical references in the song, of Moses receiving instructions in the wilderness, the 40 years of being lost in the desert and Jesus’ temptations following his baptism and his 40 days in the desert. At the heart of the song is this image of looking down at the world from a great height, remote and separate but in utter awe. Towards the end of the song is a spoken word segment. They are well known words from the astronaut Thomas Stafford as he looked down at the earth while orbiting from space:

"The white twisted clouds and the endless shades of blue in the ocean
make the hum of the spacecraft systems, the radio chatter, even your
own breathing disappear. There is no cold or wind or smell to tell you
that you are connected to Earth.

You have an almost dispassionate platform - remote, Olympian and yet so moving that you can hardly believe how emotionally attached you are to those rough patterns shifting steadily below."

Thomas Stafford Apollo 10.

I can only imagine what Thomas Stafford must have felt as he orbited the earth. Very few of us will ever experience that sense of total physical disconnection from our home, the earth. Yet from this distance Stafford began to appreciate that from which he came. From space he looked on the earth in awe, not wonder, awe. Although he was physically disconnected, his soul appeared completely connected to what he was gazing upon, it shut out all the noises of his spacecraft and even his own breath. Staring down at the earth, took his breath away. It must have been an incredibly beautiful and yet in some sense frightening experience. To me this is worship, this sense of connection that moves way beyond the confines of the physical. It must have humbled him, reminded him that he was human and just a speck of almost nothingness and yet utterly alive. What an awe filled experience.

We often hear about the need to develop a sense of wonder, in order to give life meaning. I do not believe that this is enough. What is required is a reawakening of our sense of awe. Awe and wonder are not exactly the same, although the words do appear to be used interchangeably. They both possess an element of surprise or even astonishment about them; they both grab our attention and focus completely; they both awaken our senses. Awe though is different to wonder, there is more to it, this is because it possesses an element of fear and reverence. It is perhaps best described as revered wonder with a sense of fear or trepidation blended in. Wonder opens the senses, where as awe brings them to a different level of being. There is a greater power in awe, than in wonder. It is almost overpowering, over whelming.

I remember once talking with a mother who described the birth of her daughter as the most awful experience of her life. I was a little taken aback by the use of the phrase awful, it didn’t seem right. Then she explained! At the first sight of her daughter she was just full of awe, not wonder awe! She was blown away, by this tiny presence right before her eyes, that she loved, revered and worshipped. She described the feeling as over powering and to some extent frightening. It was truly awful, it was full of awe. It humbled her too, it changed her humanity. Her life was transformed in that moment.

Isn’t it strange how awful is understood negatively, where as wonderful has only positive connotations. I suspect that this is because we fear that sense of being out of control that accompanies awe. We do not like to experience powerlessness; we like to believe we are masters of our destiny, masters of the universe. We are not, life is fragile. That’s what makes every moment, every experience, potentially awesome.

The last 18 months have really connected me to this is powerful ways. They have humbled me, they have left me in awe. Thankfully humour has restored me to sanity too. I was out with friends the other day just talking through a few things. They were concerned I was ok I think. When I got back one messaged me “ It read that’s what good friends are for “The don’t tell when you flies are down” Now I thought that they were talking about me as I noticed my were down when I got home. No, they were referring to themselves. We all had a good chuckle at this. The humour connected to our humanity, it was awful.

What an awful experience, that once again humbled me, brought a smile to my face and we connected is good humour. I reckon we are both in decent health.

I’m going to end today with a bit of Kurt Vonneghut. There is humour, there humility and humanity and there is awe too in this little tale. It is from “Cat’s Cradle”. It is a play of those old creation stories, I mentioned earlier:

“God made mud.
God got lonesome.
So God said to some of the mud, "Sit up!"
"See all I've made," said God, "the hills, the sea, the
sky, the stars."
And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look
around.
Lucky me, lucky mud.
I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done.
Nice going, God.
Nobody but you could have done it, God! I certainly
couldn't have.
I feel very unimportant compared to You.
The only way I can feel the least bit important is to
think of all the mud that didn't even get to sit up and
look around.
I got so much, and most mud got so little.
Thank you for the honor!
Now mud lies down again and goes to sleep.
What memories for mud to have!
What interesting other kinds of sitting-up mud I met!
I loved everything I saw!
Good night.
I will go to heaven now.
I can hardly wait...
To find out for certain what my wampeter was...
And who was in my karass...
And all the good things our karass did for you.

Amen.”

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot" 

The Lost and Found Come Knocking at the Door, Looking for a Better Way

There are many varied people that knock on my door. They do so for all kinds of reasons. There have been several this week. People usually do so unannounced. Some seem to have lost something and others appear to have found something.

Last Sunday, after saying goodbye’s to folk after the service, I noticed a water bottle and phone on a seat at the back of chapel. Well actually it was Nigel who spotted it. I quickly realised it belonged to Joe, a young man who is a regular attender. I knew why he had too, we had been speaking for a few days as he had been preparing the eulogy for his grandmother’s funeral. I knew I couldn’t contact him so I took the items home and looked after them. A couple of hours later there was a knock on my door and there was Joe. He had realised what he had done. It took him some time I guess as he is not one of those people who is not constantly on his phone.

We talked for a while about grief and how the mind can be like Swiss Cheese at such times. Memory of simple things goes out of the window. You feel utterly lost and lose things constantly. I remember once leaving my wallet in the post office. Glasses in Tesco’s and another time after taking the service at Styal I realised I couldn’t find my car keys. I search around, but no sign, I retraced by steps from the chapel all the way back up the pathway to the main road, all the while cursing myself for my stupidity. When I got to my car I approached the door to find them there in the door. I had at least locked the door but for some reason, but I did not take them out of the door. I shared one or two other occasions too, like the time I thought I’d lost my car. I hadn’t I’d just parked it elsewhere. There are many occasions when I thought I had lost my mind. It has always been in times of grief. It is very common. So many people share similar experiences when grieving. We feel lost and do not know, to some degree, who we are. Life is unfamiliar, so of course we feel a little lost. Afterwards life is never quite the same again.

A friend told me this morning that she had lost the keys to her house. She had to got to her brother’s to get a spare set before returning home. When she arrived her home there were her keys in the front door. It happens to us all I reckon.

What I have found is that the key to getting through times of grief and loss is to keep on turning faithfully to life. To not hide away for too long, to not fully hibernate. To take care of the basics and to lean on to the folk around you and of course to your God, however you understand that. That which sustains you in the storm of life. In time you will come through this time of loss and feeling lost and come to a new world. Greater meaning and understanding often comes as we walk faithfully through the valley of the shadow of death. Life changes you, but so does loss. It has changed me, throughout my life. Living spiritually alive is not about transcendence, it is about transformation, formation, reformation. The key is to keep a little faith and to keep on turning. It is also vital to remember that we do not journey alone, even though grief can make you feel this way at times. We all get caught up in the storms of life. This is why it is so vital to remember that we do not sail this ship alone, we travel in this ship of love together.

Humour helps too. Sometimes you just have to laugh at your humanity and absurdity. I was reminded this week of some advice I once heard about losing your mind and car. “Do not worry if you lose your car, that isn’t the problem. You are in trouble only when you forget that you have a car.”

There was a lovely moment on Wednesday as I was writing the address this is based on, just before these exact words actually. It was a beautiful reminder of how lovely people can be. There was another knock on my door. It was one of my neighbours Lucy, her daughter has a dog called Molly also and I know them well from Café Nero and just out and about. I had walked into Altrincham with her earlier as she was on her way to a charity shop with a few things. She told me she was concerned that they wouldn’t take them as four had refused her last week. They said they weren’t taking any more things. She is a person with a deep social conscience. She was concerned about distributing unwanted things to those who need them. Anyhow an hour or so later she knocked on my door to tell me that they were taking things and that there is a distribution system in place. I was so deeply touched that she remembered the conversation we had and that she needed to tell me that things were ok. How vital it is in life to remember just how ruddy lovely folk can be. This is something that is so vital in life. It is in mine. I had also that morning had another conversation with a very lost soul who likes to give Molly biscuits. She was so caught up worry about the world. She spends most of her day wandering around lost and struggling to get through the day. We talk most days. I know it lifts her spirits just a little bit to give Molly those biscuits. It is so important to remember these things; how much we all need such things.

I received an email from a person anonymously they had lost something dear to her, vital to their well being. It read:

“Hi there,
I lost my navy bunny soft toy yesterday morning in Stamford square and I’m desperately trying to find her. I really need her back. Would you be able to keep an eye out for her or be able to put up her missing poster somewhere? Thank you ever so much.”

I obviously am not naming the person. This little toy may seem like nothing to most people, but it gives the person support with their social anxiety. I hope that they find what they have lost.

I have felt lost in grief at times these last 18 months. I don’t just mean at the loss of so many folk I know, so many friends as well as congregants. So many folk I have known and love. Also, a sense of loss and bewilderment at the world. We do seem to be living through divisive times. We forget we are all far more human than otherwise, that we are formed from the same flesh and have the same spirit in us.

This is something that no matter what happens in life we must never forget. Our lives, humanity, depends upon it. If we lose that, then we truly are lost.

Memory is a mysterious thing. Memory loss is a serious thing too. Our minds are affected by many things that can interfere with some basic brain functions. There are of course the many and varied forms of dementia which we are seeing and understanding more and more. I see it in folks I know, and I see the affects it has on those who care for folk becoming lost in such worlds.

I sometimes wonder about my own memory too, especially around traumatic times in my life. I was reminded of a peculiar memory recently. My brother’s eldest son Theo has recently begun University They broke their foot trampolining and were obviously struggling. There were some jokes on a family Wattsapp about how lucky they were that my former stepdad wasn’t there as he would have wiggled it about and told him to stop being soft and get on with it. This had happened to my youngest sister when she broke her arm roller skating. I had lived most of my life with a guilt about this. The way I remembered it was that I was the one that did this to her. I remember a few years ago apologising to her for this. She looked at me like I was a complete idiot, in fact she told me so. Telling me this is not what happened at all. That I had cared for her and it was her dad that did this and that I was there as it happened. I witnessed the act, but did not do it. I still struggle with accepting this reality. My mind does not fully remember this at all. I cannot find the whole truth of the memory. It tells me something about the state of my mind and memory at that time in my life. It also teaches me something about how memory so easily gets lost and that the truth can be hard to find especially in times of emotion, loss and trauma. Something we could all do to remember in these times we are living through.

It is also vital to keep a hold of the truth of beautiful memories of moments of deep care and love and attention too. Of what is good and loving and beautiful. Of every tiny bit of humanity. Our lives, our world depends upon it. I have been thinking of these a lot these last couple of weeks as I celebrated an important anniversary recently. I have been remembering so many people that offered so much love and acceptance in darker days. In days when I was very lost.

Now I know that this might sound counter intuitive, but being lost and feeling lost is not always such a terrible thing, especially if it leads us to look for a better way. I reminded here of a mysterious little poem by William Stafford “Cutting Loose”. Here it is:

“Cutting Loose” by William Stafford

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,
you sing. For no reason, you accept
the way of being lost, cutting loose
from all else and electing a world
where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder
that a steady center is holding
all else. If you listen, that sound
will tell you where it is and you
can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters
always bar the path—but that’s when
you get going best, glad to be lost,
learning how real it is
here on earth, again and again.

As Parker J. Palmer highlights whilst reflecting on this poem. Maybe “the way of being lost” is important, perhaps even necessary at times, if we are to “cut loose” from business as usual and reach beyond for a far better world. Perhaps what is key is that vital reminder that “a steady center is holding all else,” and if you know where it is, “you can slide your way past trouble.”

It is just as vital to remember that the “twisted monsters” that always bar our path, need not defeat us but can prod us to “get going” amid the complex mix of horror and beauty of which reality is made. As we “get going,” our acceptance of being lost can turn to gratitude for being lost. Because if we didn’t feel lost then we wouldn’t look for a better way.

How vital it is to remember that even when we feel lost that all is not necessarily lost, we just need to find a better way.

I find something deeply reassuring in the fact that “lost and found” are paired together. I love that lost property boxes are often referred to as “The lost and found”. There is something very powerful in the journey of faith here. There is something beautifully paradoxical in all of this. It reminds me that if you want to be found you have to first of all get lost. It is the “Hero’s Journey”.

If I have learnt anything in life it is that the problem isn’t whether or not we will get lost at times, the question is how will we live when we get lost. Now of course the first step towards finding my way again is to recognise first of all that I am lost. This doesn’t necessarily mean literally lost, but lost in myself, whether that is lost in fear, self-doubt, self-pity, basically lost in my own underpants.

When I am lost in myself and find myself truly “lost at sea” I find that what has really happened is that I’ve separated myself once again from what I know to be true, about what is at the heart of me and the heart of life and have blinded myself to the light both within and without and I have once again walled myself in and I begin to feel alone and utterly lost. I have cut myself off from others and the love present in life. In such a state I can really hurt myself, I have done so in the past. I know when I am lost, internally I find myself giving in to guilt, to loneliness and defensiveness. While externally I will begin to blame others for this sense of lostness, resentment grows as does confusion in others. Don’t we all? When I am lost the solution might not be to go back to where I come from, the answer might be to find a better way.

We all feel lost at times. I have re-learnt once more how important that is. It keeps you connected to life and allows you to grow, to be transformed. This is the point of the spiritual life. This year I have re-learnt once again the importance of vulnerability. Everyone of us is vulnerable to the troubles of life. No matter how comfortable life might be at this moment that can be quickly shaken and all can be lost. There could be an unexpected knock at the door, or phone call one cold autumn day with news you don’t want to hear.

The problem isn’t getting lost, we all get lost at times. The problem is in losing faith that you can be found once again. The key is how we live when we find ourselves lost. Do we close down and get lost deeper in our fear, or do we pause and reach out and ask for help from those loving forces that are all around whether visible or invisible. Do we look for the better way.

I’m going to end with one final poem, by my favourite farmer poet Wendell Berry. It’s his “Sabbath Poem II”

Sabbath Poem II (1995) by Wendell Berry

The best reward in going to the woods
Is being lost to other people, and
Lost sometimes to myself. I'm at the end
Of no bespeaking wire to spoil my goods;

I send no letter back I do not bring.
Whoever wants me now must hunt me down
Like something wild, and wild is anything
Beyond the reach of purpose not its own.

Wild is anything that's not at home
In something else's place. This good white oak
Is not an orchard tree, is unbespoke,
And it can live here by its will alone,

Lost to all other wills but Heaven's -- wild.
So where I most am found I'm lost to you,
Presuming friend, and only can be called
Or answered by a certain one, or two.

From Wendell Berry’s This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems, Counterpoint, Berkeley 2013: 195.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this post

“The Universal ‘Hum’: Join in the Harmony of the Heart"

You may recall that early last summer I was out with Molly one warm Monday evening. I was walking with one or two troubles they were weighing heavily on my heart and soul. I had heard singing from upstairs at the town hall. We walked around for a while and I bumped into a couple of people I know and we engaged in small talk, beginning with conversations about the weather. One complained and another gave thanks. I was enjoying the evening sunshine. I walked past the town hall a little later and the singing was a beautiful sound, that went with that beautiful early summer evening. I posted about it and a little later a woman who has attended Dunham Road on the odd occasion replied saying that it was her choir and would I be interested in joining. I hadn’t been, but suddenly I was. I had been talking of singing again for quite some time. Well, I did and it has been wonderful being a part of this choir since.

I began, as is my way, quietly and almost shyly. I have in time grown into myself and have found my voice. I am loving it. It is great to sing and to sing with others.

The other day as I was walking through Altrincham when I bumped into the choir leader Rose having lunch with her husband. We began a conversation beginning with her asking questions about Molly. She is my superpower when it comes to engagement. Rose then began to ask about my work. Asking if I was a priest. I began to explain that I was not a priest. I am not set apart as a special kind of person. I am not a holy man, anymore holy than anyone else. I am a minister, which means to serve. I am a humble servant, in the truest sense of the word humble. My role is help others to engage with the holy themselves. Rose then began to talk about her role as the choir leader as being something akin to what I was describing as ministry. That her role is to help facilitate the choir, to help the voices come together and sing. I said something like, yes similar and I thought to myself it sounds like holy work, as what she is doing is bringing the spirit to life. I then felt I had been there too long. Made my apologies and left her and her husband to enjoy their lunch.

I have loved being part of the choir. It is hard work, especially to begin with as they were singing songs unfamiliar to me. Rose and the other choir leader Brooke have been wonderful and accommodating, as have all the others in this wonderful and diverse collective. There are many different social activities too. I have not become a part of them as of yet, as I am there to sing.

I have been thinking about choir singing and how it is a wonderful metaphor of the spiritual life, of free religious living. Singing is about listening, about listening in such a deep attentive way. The only people who can’t sing are the truly tone deaf, for they can’t hear. There aren’t many truly tone death people in this world. To sing with others requires you to listen to the leader, to listen to your section, to be aware of the other section without getting too caught up in what they are doing. You need to focus on your part. It is not merely a mechanical process, it requires heart and soul and breathing. You have to breath in the right way and at the right time too. You have to work together with others, being part of something incredible and wonderful and only works if you play your part. You make something more wonderful in harmony as the music comes together. You need to focus and yet relax at the same time. You cannot be timid and or tentative, you need to let your heart and soul out, while humbly playing your part to create something more wonderful than the individual voices could alone. You may have your moment to shine, but mainly it is about playing your part as piece of the whole. I believe it is a wonderful example of true humility.

I was talking with some friends the other evening. The subject of humility came up. What we mean by humility. We all spoke and listened to one another. The very activity seemed to personify humility to me. Humility to me is about accepting my human limitations. Accepting my finiteness, whilst at the same time being responsible for what is mine. To be humble is to be fully human, finite, from the earth, but with a responsibility for what is mine. A Jewish friend told me of a conversation he once had a with Rabbi about humility. He asked him about how he copes with suffering, how he keeps faith in world with so much suffering. To which the Rabbi answered that each morning he prays “to be the best person he can be.” To me this is to live humbly. It brought to my mind some favourite words from the Book of Micah Ch 6 v 8 that points to a way to live by ethical and spiritual behaviour: "He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God".

The conversation was both beautiful and humble in its nature. We listened to one another, we added from our own hearts and experience and we all gained from the sharing together. It lifted all of our spirits. We sang a beautiful song in harmony together. Not singing the same notes, but our blending together made something beautiful and moving.

The conversation reminded me of singing in a choir together. Singing together with others seems like the spiritual life personified. It is humility in action. Each plays their part and creates a greater whole. Something far greater than they could do alone. Hallelujah.

There are many benefits to singing. It lifts me up when sometimes I feel fallen in heart and soul. 'When you sing, you cannot be sad for long,' a chorister was quoted as saying in a study of singing. This seems to be a universal response. Singing feels great and it's good for you. It decreases feelings of anxiety, loneliness, and depression. Singing is good for the brain, it can counteract the effects of brain aging. In her book The Secret Life of the Grown-Up Brain, Barbara Strauch includes joining a choir as one of the things you can do to enhance neuroplasticity. Music increases gray matter and the number and strength of neural connections in the brain. It connects to others and to the moment, it brings the soul to life. This increases many fold when you sing with others in harmony and not discord.

When I first joined the choir, I mentioned to some folk that I was quiet. There is a shyness in me, which may not seem obvious to folk, when I join something new. So, I slowly and quietly made my steps into the group. They were warm and welcoming and helped me greatly. They were lovely and friendly people. I slowly stepped into my section and the men helped me find my voice. Slowly over time I found my voice and my true personality began to find its voice. My friend Rob told me that this would be the case within a few weeks I would be shinning bright. He was right. It took me a while though. It began by humbly listening, and in time my voice began to give what it had to give. That said it took time and it began by truly listening, with the ears of my heart. This week I helped to welcome a friend into our circle who was joining for the first time. There was a special moment as we began to learn a new piece. Each breaking into their sections, getting close together in a circle, listening to each other, singing our parts and beginning to create something beautiful. It began with listening to one another, adding our voice and slowly raising each other up, raising our voices heavenward.

I feel most alive when singing. I wonder sometimes if what we are made of is music. That music is the heartbeat of life. It’s not we who make music we just let music be made through us and we join in the choir of life. I am not the first to think this way. A couple of years ago I spoke about Pythagoras’ concept of “The Music of the Spheres”, that every celestial body produces in its movement a unique hum determined by its orbit.

Now of course Pythagoras would not have used the word orbit in his day. This was a phrase coined by the German astronomer Joannes Kepler almost 2,000 later. Kepler resurrected Pythagoras lesser known theory in his “Harmony of the World” published in 1619. Kepler believed that the whole universe was singing, that it was reverberating with music that the human ear could not hear. At the time he was thought to be a fool and ridiculed for his beliefs.

Well maybe not. It seems that this hum may have been detected by modern radio telescopes, that were sent out into space and have detected a low-frequency hum that pervades the whole universe. This hum is the product of black holes colliding in the early universe, from the dawn of time. That each creates a different low note and that all these notes “sing” together creating some incredible cosmic hum, it would seem that the universe is singing in harmony.

This blows me away, it blows out my heart and soul. It connects we individual humans to the whole universe. It connects us to eternity. It connects our finite bodies to the beginning of time. Matter comes alive in our bodies and these celestial bodies in creation and destruction. It humbles me and makes me feel tiny but no less important. It reminds me I am mortal. Like the birds sing because they are alive. I believe that this is why we sing too. Singing together in harmony, listening to each others voices creates something even more wonderful and beautiful. We join in the music of the universe. We sing the eternal harmony of belonging.

This is beautifully illustrated in the following poem hymn by Marie Howe, that I came across in a beautiful article published in “The Marginalian” by Maria Popova. I will end with it.

“Hymn” by Maria Howe

It began as an almost inaudible hum,
low and long for the solar winds
and far dim galaxies,

a hymn growing louder, for the moon and the sun,
a song without words for the snow falling,
for snow conceiving snow

conceiving rain, the rivers rushing without shame,
the hum turning again higher — into a riff of ridges
peaks hard as consonants,

summits and praise for the rocky faults and crust and crevices
then down down to the roots and rocks and burrows
the lakes’ skittery surfaces, wells, oceans, breaking

waves, the salt-deep: the warm bodies moving within it:
the cold deep: the deep underneath gleaming: some of us rising
as the planet turned into dawn, some lying down

as it turned into dark; as each of us rested — another woke, standing
among the cast-off cartons and automobiles;
we left the factories and stood in the parking lots,

left the subways and stood on sidewalks, in the bright offices,
in the cluttered yards, in the farmed fields,
in the mud of the shanty towns, breaking into

harmonies we’d not known possible. finding the chords as we
found our true place singing in a million
million keys the human hymn of praise for every

something else there is and ever was and will be:
the song growing louder and rising.
(Listen, I too believed it was a dream.)

Maybe this is the secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, that Leonard Cohen sung of. Is this the voice that is less than a whisper, but more than silence. Maybe it’s the sound in the silence. I don’t know. Maybe if we are still and silent enough, if we listen with the ears of hearts and open our hearts and join in the harmony of life, maybe just maybe we can truly join is singing the great harmony of the heart.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "Blogspot"

Don’t Just Do It For Thi Sen

I’m going to begin with a favourite story. One of those I remember being told at primary school, maybe 45 years ago. It has stayed with me all these years. It spoke to my heart and soul back then and it still does today.

Once upon a time, in a remote village, a woman heard a knock on her door. She was surprised to find a traveller on her doorstep, for visitors to her village were few and far between. The traveller had journeyed a long way, and he asked, very politely, for something to eat.

The woman replied sadly, ‘I’m sorry, I have nothing in the house right now.’

The traveller smiled. ‘Not to worry,’ he said. ‘I have a magical soup stone in my bag. If you will let me put it in a pot of boiling water, I’ll make the most delicious soup in the world.’

The woman did not really believe the traveller, but she thought she had nothing to lose, so she lit a fire, filled her largest pot with water, and started to heat it.

While it was warming up she popped next door and whispered to her neighbour about her visitor and his magical soup stone. The neighbour whispered the story to her other neighbours, and by the time the water started to boil the whole village was crowded into the woman’s kitchen.

While everyone stared, the stranger dropped the stone into the water.
Then the stranger tasted a spoonful of soup and smacked his lips and cried out, ‘Ah, delicious!’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘All it needs is some potatoes.’

‘I have some potatoes back in my kitchen,’ shouted the neighbour and quickly went back to her house. In a few minutes she was back with a huge pile of sliced potatoes. The traveller placed them into the pot.

The traveller tasted again – ‘Ah, marvellous!’ he said. But then he added wistfully, ‘But if only we had some meat, this soup could become a really tasty stew.’

Another villager rushed home to bring the meat that she had been going to use for that night’s meal. The traveller accepted it with gratitude and added it to the pot.

Then he tasted it again: ‘Ah, most excellent. If we just had some vegetables it would be perfect, absolutely perfect.’

One of the neighbours dashed back to her house and returned with a mountain of carrots and onions. These were added and boiled for a few minutes.

Then he tasted again and called out: ‘Seasoning!’ which was quickly handed to him.

The stranger took a final taste and danced with glee. ‘Bowls and spoons for everyone!’ he shouted.

People rushed off to their homes to find bowls and spoons. Some even brought back bread, cheese and fruit.

Then they all sat down to a delicious meal. The traveller ladled out large helpings of his magical soup. Everyone felt happy as they sat down to the very first meal they had shared as a whole village.

In the middle of the meal the stranger slipped quietly away, leaving behind the magical soup stone, which they could use any time they wanted to make the most delicious soup in the world.

It's great story don’t you think. One I never tire of. A story for all times and all people and all situations. I think we could all do with some fo what this stone brought to the people of the village…And let flavour flood out.

John Wesley the father of Methodism lived a life devoted to helping others. He said in relation to service:

Do all the good you can
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
As long as ever you can

Seems like a simple philosophy to live by. It got me thinking of a slightly different approach, that you may have heard. A kind of caricature of folk who come the part of the world I am from.

“Ear all, see all, say nowt; eyt all, sup all, pay nowt; and if ivver tha does owt fer nowt allus do it fer thissen.” Which roughly translates as “Hear all, see all, say nothing; eat all, drink all, pay nothing; and if ever you do anything for nothing always do it for yourself.”

It suggests that the key is not living with a generous heart. That the way to live in this world is to live purely for yourself. Now despite my heritage I very much more in the John Wesley camp. Generosity has to be at the heart of the matter.

I have experienced a summer of deep contrasts. I have been deeply troubled by some of things I have witnessed, the way that people behave and speak of others. How people can a times be dehumanised. It breaks my heart. In contrast I have known incredible generosity and kindness from so many people on a personal level. If fills my heart with love. We humans are such contradictions, capable of so much generosity and also capable of deep cruelty. We are a mystery.

I believe in our capacity, that we are capable of so much more than we often think we are. This is not easy of course. In some ways it easy to not trust one another or life itself. To just horde and keep things to ourselves, protect what we have. To believe if I give a little it will be taken from me. I will be taken advantage of if I give myself away. That you have to store up your harvest, hoard, keep it purely for thi sen.

What good does this do though? It keeps everyone lonely and fighting and fending for themselves. I think that this is “The state of warre” that Thomas Hobbes spoke of. There is a better a way and begins in generosity. In giving more from our heart than we perhaps expect to get in return, thus encouraging each other to do the same.

It brings to mind the following:

“I have something that I call my Golden Rule. It goes something like this. Do unto others 20% better than you would expect them to do unto you, to correct the subjective error”

I comes from Linus Pauling, who twice won the Nobel prize for Chemistry, one of the greatest scientists of all time and who was a committed Unitarian Universalist. The quotation suggests that the golden rule, do unto others as you would have them do to you, no longer cuts the mustard, because subjective error is involved. And what is subjective error? Well, it is an error caused by bias or prejudice. No one can be truly objective and the problem with treating others as we would like to be treated is that it doesn’t fully take into account the perspective of the other. We do not put ourselves in their shoes, we cannot fully. So instead of treating them as well as we would like to be treated, what we ought to be doing instead is actually treating them better than we would want to be. By doing so we begin to raise one another up. Maybe by doing so we might all begin to treat one another better. And if we keep on adding to one another, we may just raise up our shared humanity and create a better more loving world. Yes, the golden rule is a great starting point and certainly an improvement on an eye for an eye, which itself was actually an improvement on unlimited revenge. All are steps in progression, but perhaps we could go further and I suspect that the twice Nobel prize winner for Chemistry Linus Pauling, may have the answer to raising up our shared humanity.

At the beginning of this Autumn, at this harvest season I am focusing on generosity on those who give and to be encouraged and inspired by them to give just a little bit of myself, in so doing I reckon more will get added to the shared pot and we will all receive so much more. I am necessarily speaking of material things here, more of myself, my humanity.

I am very grateful for the gifts that are this life, for life itself. I have been thinking of this quite often as I have been experiencing grief and loss a lot this year.

The following poem came up as a Facebook memory this week.

“Otherwise” by Jane Kenyon (1947-1995)

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

I’ve been thinking of this poem by Jane Kenyon all week. No doubt at its heart is the grief I’ve been experiencing. It’s a poem about that most beautiful of virtues “gratitude”. In much the same vein as “gravy” by Raymond Carver. A poem he wrote in gratitude for the years of recovery he had experienced, the extra life he’d been gifted, written while he knew he was dying of brain cancer. He was grateful for the 10 years, because “it might have been otherwise.” He called it “gravy”.

Jane Kenyon wrote this poem not long before she herself died of leukemia at age 47. The same age that my dad died actually. She wrote the poem in the full knowledge that things would soon be “otherwise” for her. What a beautiful gift to give the world. What a beautiful reminder as I think of lost friends. It could certainly have been otherwise for me and countless others. What incredible generosity of spirit, right to the end, expressed in these poems by jane Kenyon and Raymond Carver.

Here's the Raymond Carver poem also.

“Gravy” by Raymond Carver

August 21st 1988

No other word will do. For that’s what it was. Gravy.
Gravy these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head. “Don’t weep for me,”
he said to his friends. “I’m a lucky man.
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected. Pure gravy. And don’t forget it.”

Gratitude might be the purest of virtues. At its heart is an acknowledgment of the giftedness of life. I also think that its heart is what we do with what we have been given. Do we hoard it and “Keep it for this sen” or do you create something from it. Of course the greatest gifts are those relational in nature. That we give wholly from our heart to another. Giving from the heart means that all gain from the pot as it encourages others to do the same, much like the stone soup story.

There are several slightly different accounts in the Gospels of Jesus feeding crowds of people. Now there is a real danger of losing the meaning behind these tales by engaging in winding arguments about their factual accuracy; to get hung up on a debate as to whether or not Jesus could feed the thousands of people present with just a few fish and loaves. To get hung up on the factual accuracy is to miss the whole point of the teaching behind the story. Mythological tales are not about fact they are about revealing deeper universal truths.

There is a line in one account from Mark’s gospel (Ch 8 vv 1-9) where we hear the words “They ate and were filled”. Here we find the essence of the story, it is about the encounter that goes on between the disciples and the crowd that by feeding them face to face they are serving them, they are ministering to them. Yes, the crowd’s physical hunger is met, while at the same time everyone’s spiritual hunger is met. Seemingly everyone ate and everyone was filled, abundantly, to overflowing.

From you I receive to you I give, together we share and from this we live.

In the Stone Soup Story”, it is the stone that was the magic ingredient, that encouraged all to give. The key is of course in the relational nature of this. We are all in the pot together and by bringing what we have we enjoy a greater harvest. We see we are all made of the same stuff and by bringing what we have, we all get our fill of the share.

It is easy to look at our world and despair and give up and say “what’s the point? Everyone is out for “thi sen”. If I go out of my way to help another, they’ll just keep on taking advantage and what will I ever get back in return? “If tha gunna do owt for nowt, do fir thee sen”

But you know me, you know I believe there is another way. The other way is the Linus Pauling way, the Golden Rule plus 20%; I see this in the relational aspects of gratitude, in giving from what has been freely gifted us. As Raymond Carver and Jane Kenyon did with those poems written whilst their lives were ending, poems expressing the gratitude of being gifted this life.

This seems like a simple way to live. At its core is this life affirming principle that in spite of a great deal of evidence to the contrary faith, hope and love do in fact still remain. You see these ripples touch everybody both the giver and receiver and all who are eventually touched by them; both the giver and receiver are transformed by the experience; both giver and receiver are blessed abundantly.

I’d like you do something for me, “for thee sen”, for your world over this Autumn. I’d like you to remember all those times in your life when someone has gone out of their way to help you with no expectation of anything in return; whether they have helped you materially, intellectually, emotionally, or spirituality. I’d like you re-feel these occasions and to meditate on them and to come up with ways that you can give as generously. Not exactly the same and not to pay back. Give from your heart and maybe give 20% more. Give from what has been gifted to you and do so generously.

We can change our world today; it begins with thee and me. If you can’t do it for me, do it for thee sen.

I’d like to end this with this lovely tale by David J. Wolpe

There is a marvelous story of a man who once stood before God, his heart breaking from the pain and injustice in the world. "Dear God." he cried out, "look at all the suffering, the anguish and distress in your world. Why don't you send help?" God responded,"I did send help. I sent you." When we tell our children that story, we must tell them that each one of them was sent to help repair the broken world-and that it is not the task of an instant or of a year, but of a lifetime.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "Blogspot"

Openness and Humility: Hearts, Eyes, Minds and Hands

Once upon a time there were six blind men. They lived in a town in India. They thought they were very clever. One day an elephant came into the town. The blind men did not know what an elephant looked like but they could smell it and they could hear it. 'What is this animal like?' they said. Each man touched a different part of the elephant.

The first man touched the elephant's body. It felt hard, big and wide. 'An elephant is like a wall,' he said.

The second man touched one of the elephant's tusks. It felt smooth and hard and sharp. 'An elephant is like a spear,' he said.

The third man touched the elephant's trunk. It felt long and thin and wiggly. 'An elephant is like a snake,' he said.

The fourth man touched one of the legs. It felt thick and rough and hard and round. 'An elephant is like a tree,' he said.

The fifth man touched one of the elephant's ears. It felt thin and it moved. 'An elephant is like a fan,' he said.

The sixth man touched the elephant's tail. It felt long and thin and strong. 'An elephant is like a rope,' he said.

The men argued. It's like a wall! No, it isn't! It's like a spear! No it isn't! It's like a snake! They did not agree. The king had been watching and listening to the men. 'You are not very clever. You only touched part of the elephant. You did not feel the whole animal. An elephant is not like a wall or a spear or a snake, or a tree or a fan or a rope.'

The men left the town still arguing. A little girl heard them and said 'Each of you is right but you are all wrong … but I know what you are talking about!'

Maybe if they learned to listen to each other, been open to another then together they might just have learned the truth of what an elephant is.

I received many lovely gifts for my birthday. Some arrived through the letter box , others given to me directly a few were left on my doorstep. I was given a wonderful book on Ralph Waldo Emerson written by a former member of Dunham Road Chapel Alexander Ireland, the father of the composer John Ireland. Alexander Ireland and Emerson were great friends. As Emerson said “The only way to have friends is to be one”, inspired by their lifelong friends. On my birthdays I often think that he greatest gifts I have in my life are my friends, the folk I get to walk the journey of life with. One friend sent me a lovely WattsApp message which included the following that opened my heart.

“When asked about the lens through which she chooses to see the world, Quaker songwriter Carrie Newcomer shares her practice of seeing with the eyes of love:

My life as a songwriter and a poet has asked me to consider how I look at the world on a daily, moment-to-moment kind of way…. Our first job is to pay attention and then to take in what we see with a certain kind of spirit and for me, a certain kind of love. I think it’s a practice and the more you practice it, the more you see; the more you see, the more you see with love….

The big things I love: I love my husband. I love my daughter. I love justice. I love mercy…. I love so many big things, but my life is also filled every day with all these glorious little loves…. There can be great meaning and great love in small things. I love blueberries and I love the smell of lilacs and I love how little kids hold each other’s hands when they go across the street….

In looking at the small moment and the small thing through love, it’s not always completely joyous…. You take it all. When you decide I’m going to be here, I’m going to be present, and I’m going to be present with love, you take it all.”

Thank you, Carrie, and thank you my friend for sending me this on my birthday.

It is not always easy taking it all, but there is no other way I have discovered. You have to look at it all with eyes wide open and heart, mind and soul too and then respond with hands open to all that is.

Like Carrie, I know it is often the little things that bring the greatest blessings in our lives. I continue on day by day. I share my blessing every morning upon awakening with friends on social media. I have a little quiet time, in prayer and then I reflect and share. I was thinking of the little blessings as I reflected on my birthday gifts and greetings, including a few friends, with mixed ability singing happy birthday on voice notes. As I did I looked down at my little blessing Molly who I collected 3 years ago. As you know I had gone for one of her sisters, but she insisted on coming home with me. A day of deep sorrow as it was also the day that our youngest cousin Cheryl died. Molly kept my heart open in that time of grief, as she does every day. I need to keep it open as sometimes I am tempted to close it to all the pain, anger and suffering abound, those things that trouble me deeply day by day.

I had a beautiful experience of open hearted conversation on Wednesday at the Urmston “Common Search for Meaning” Group. We were exploring and sharing about memory. It was a beautiful conversation and lifted several folk present out of their worries and anxieties as they connected with each other and the moment they were living it. We spoke with open minds and hearts. One thing that came up in the conversation was how folk can remember things so differently. How we experience life oh so differently. How vital it is to remain open to the experiences of others. A bit like the blind men and the elephant, we only get the full picture if we listen to one another, if we listen with the ears of heart to one another’s experience and somewhere in there we might discover something that resembles the truth. This is not always easy though. It is vital to remain open, or as open as possible and to remain humble too, especially when it comes to truth claims.

If I have learnt anything about spiritual living I have learnt that the key is openness; the key to spiritual living is to live with open hearts, open minds, open eyes and open hands. These four are spiritual living in practice, which I have come to believe is the essence religion. Not creed like religion but truly living breathing practising religion. A religion, a lived spiritually, that not only brings us to life, but it enables us to live truly alive and awake in this our shared world.

Unitarian minister James Vila Blake (1842-1925) wrote the following covenant, "Love is the spirit of this church, and service its law. This is our great covenant: To dwell together in peace, To seek the truth in love, And to help one another." I think in many ways this covenant articulates the essence of what it means to come together in love as a worshipping community. It has been adopted by many Unitarian Universalist and Free Christian communities. It expresses beautifully what it means to live in an open, living breathing spiritual community, what free religion ought to be about.

Openness is at the heart of my understanding of our Unitarian tradition. I have come to believe the essence of openness is humility, especially when it comes to truth claims.

Openness is very much a doing word. It’s not so much that you are open, more that you live openly. To do so religiously, is to be open in four ways. To live with open hands, open eyes, open hearts and open minds. To live faithfully is to do so with open eyes, an open heart and an open mind and so doing our hands will open so as to accept one another and to serve one another, this life and the living breathing spirit that connects all life, what I name God.

Now to practise the first three open mind, open heart and open eyes so as to enable us to live with open hands is no easy task. In fact to master them is virtually impossible. The key is to begin and to continue; the key is intentional practice. To live with open eyes is to see the world as is truly is; to see reality as it really is, warts and all and in its beauty spots too. To live with open eyes is to not turn away from the suffering present in life but also to pay attention to life’s beauty too, to notice those little things. To live with open eyes is to see the reality of the whole of life. This is not easy, so often we are tempted to turn away. To live fully connected lives, we need to live with open eyes, to see life with all its blessings and curses. This is my morning practice of sharing the little things I notice in life.

To live with an open mind is to be able to search for truth and meaning while maintaining an awareness of the tension between certitude and curiosity. It is the balance of being receptive to what is new and foreign, while at the same time holding onto what is most dear. It is to try to know while in the presence of the unknown and unknowable. This can make others feel uncomfortable and they may try to close an open mind or put their things in it. This does not mean that we do not discern that we don’t come to conclusions, quite the opposite actually. It is vital to come to conclusions, so that one can act in the world, it’s just that after the decision the openness must be maintained, it is never too late to change our minds. So, keep your minds open but please do be careful what you put in it.

The key to living with a loving and open heart is live with all our senses, including our sixth sense, our soul open to all the wonders and mystery of life. There are though dangers to this. Living with an open heart exposes us to pain and fear. To truly live with an open heart is to allow ourselves to be touched in the most tender of places. This can hurt sometimes. Remember Cupids arrow had to first of all pierce the flesh before it could penetrate the heart, love hurts. To live with an open heart is to follow the great commandment, it is Agape. It is to love others, no matter who they are what they have done, where they have come from, it is to love without condition. It is to follow the Golden Rule. It is to love our neighbour as we would wish to be loved ourselves. This requires love and compassion for ourselves of course, which can at times be the greatest challenge. It is to feel a deep connection with all that is, all that has been and all that will ever be. It is to recognise that in order to feel this connection requires that we share of ourselves. To love is to practice forgiveness, over and over again. Practicing living with a loving heart is to live willing to be transformed by what we encounter in our daily lives.

By living with these three open eyes, open minds and open hearts we can then practice living with open hands. Hands that welcome, hands that humbly accept our interconnectedness, humble hands and hands that are willing to do what they can do to serve, to play their part in the world.

This means being willing to practice committing and recommitting to use my hands, my abilities, in the service of life. To take responsibility for attempting to create the kin-dom of love right here right now. Living with open hands is about being a loving presence, regardless of the world we inhabit. Our open eyes allow us to recognise where our hands can be of use in the world, if our minds and our hearts are open.

Open hands though are not just about what we do, they are also about connection and perhaps more importantly humility. It is humility that is the key to living openly.

Now humility is a word that is often misunderstood. To be humble is to be at home in our true humanity, to be grounded in our own reality and shared humanity. The key to humility is to recognise that we are a part of something larger than our singular selves.

Humility is not about being meek and mild and bowing and scraping, it is not about being self-deprecating or denigrating. Too often humility is seen in this way, particularly from a religious perspective, as an excuse for suffering and or meekness. To me this is not true humility; true humility is about living with open hands and doing what we can in the world, we can only do this if we live with open hearts, open minds and open eyes and by recognising our common humanity.

I believe that Dag Hammarskjold, the former Secretary General of the United Nations, expressed the true meaning of humility when he said:

"Humility is just as much the opposite of self-abasement as it is self-exaltation. To be humble is not to make comparisons. Secure in its reality, the self is neither better nor worse, bigger nor smaller, than anything else in the universe. It is-nothing, yet at the same time one with everything."

Humility is an interesting word, when understood correctly. It has its roots in the word “humus” which means earth. It also shares the same linguistic root as human and humanity. To be humble is to be grounded in this life; to be humble is to recognise our honest place in the world and life in general, whilst recognising that life itself does not revolve around us. Humility is the core of my chosen Unitarian faith. I believe that we are a humble faith. Our tradition is open and accepting, we welcome diversity, we honour one another’s points of view. Are these not by their very nature acts of humility? And in doing so are we not accepting that each of us have limits to our own individual perspectives; that we need to be open to one another in order to see new and deeper truths; that we cannot make sense of anything alone. This is free religion in its essence, this coming together and experiencing more than we could have imagined alone, by coming together, in love. We honour and acknowledge that on our own we cannot know everything and that by being open to others who may see and understand things differently we are challenged to expand our understandings, doing so in love and respect and honour these differences. Humility is about rejoicing in the challenge that others who see things differently can reveal to us and therefore expand our understanding.

The key is to live openly and of course the key to openness is humility. No one lives apart from anyone else we are all interdependent. Also, none of us knows everything, we all see through the glass dimly. There is limitlessness in openness. Who knows how much we can truly change and learn to love if we just stay open, in our hearts and minds and eyes. Who knows what we can do with our loving hands if we live with truly open eyes, open hearts and open minds.

The key is to live with open eyes, open hearts open minds and open hands; the key is to live with true humility, to see that we are grounded in our shared humanity; the key is to see that we are a part of something far greater than ourselves and that through recognising this we will know the love present in life and begin to bring that love alive, right here right now.

Every day is a day when we can bear witness to a Power Greater than ourselves. We do this when we love one another with open hands, when we see the world with truly open eyes, when we live with minds that are truly open and heart open to the love waiting to enter and to be poured out onto our world that really needs it.

I believe it is our task to live truly open lives. This is real spiritual living, this is true religions. I believe it is our task to bring love alive, through our openness. It is our task to allow God to incarnate through our lives. To do so we need to live with open hands and love this our shared world.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "Blogspot"

Clues: The Thread You Follow Through The Labyrinth of Life

“Labyrinth” by Kayla Parker

Walk the maze
within your heart: guide your steps into its questioning curves.
This labyrinth is a puzzle leading you deeper into your own truths.
Listen in the twists and turns.
Listen in the openness within all searching.
Listen: a wisdom within you calls to a wisdom beyond you and in that dialogue lies peace.

It has been quite a week; it’s been a busy week. I have been very much involved right in the stream of life. Whilst I’ve been swimming in the stream I have felt as though the ears of my ears and have been wide awake and the eyes of my eyes side open. It has felt as if the soul of life has been communicating with my life, not loudly, but gently and persistently.

I have conducted two funerals in the chapel this week, both were of friends for many years. One of whom became a much loved member of the Dunham Road congregation, Liz. Both funerals had moments, unexpected ones, that have awakened something in me and others, speaking from that deeper soul. On Monday at Jon’s funeral those in attendance were invited to speak after the eulogy. Several did beautifully about his life and what he had meant to them. Then a man came forward, who no one else knew. He looked quite distressed and began to speak. He took out his phone and read a picture of a letter he had written to Jon over 20 years before. It was an apology he had never been able to give for things that had happened when they were kids at school. You could almost feel something move as he spoke. The man left after the service and no one really had chance to speak to him. I hope he finds peace. It spoke powerfully to me of the potential for healing and redemption in our lives no matter how far down the line it might be. It spoke powerfully to me of faith. It was an incredible experience to witness.

Liz’s funeral service had a powerful impact too. There were even a couple of moments when it felt like the God of humour was playing tricks on us all. I was deeply moved by what so many people told me after the service. How they said I really knew Liz. They also told me how much she loved the community and had healed so much with us. She will be greatly missed, something I felt strongly all day. Following the service there was a private intimate committal at Dunham Massey. It ended with joy and humour and the song “Hi Ho Silver Lining”, it seemed perfect. As we stepped out into the sunshine that had just appeared I noticed a faint outline of a rainbow in the skyline. It had been raining for some time and now the sun was out, perfect timing.

The next morning I attended my usual Thursday mediation. Liz herself was one of the four people who attend the very first one, along with myself and two people who attended her funeral. The first person to share after the silence began by saying he had been driving in that morning listening to “Talk Sport” when suddenly they began to play “Hi Ho Silver Linning”, wow what a coincidence I thought. Then he shared about being out with his family walking in the hills , how the kids were complaining of the weather walking etc, of a giant seagull pooing on his head and all kinds of things going wrong and then they reached the summit together, the sun came out and there in front of them was a beautiful rainbow and this sense of gratitude that they could share this moment together just overcame him.

I thought to myself “Hi ho silver lining” indeed.

I was sat with a couple of folk who had been at Liz’s funeral and remembered a conversation I had had with them. One was trying to describe someone we all knew, but he couldn’t remember his name. He was doing a terrible job of it. I remarked come on John, give us a clue. Someone said he would be useless at charades. He was certainly no Una Stubbs or Lionel Blair. He also gave us a glimpse of what life might be like if we are privileged to live long enough and end up in a retirement home. There was joy and laughter shared and we remembered dear old friends we have known along the way of life.

Life truly does speak and those within it do too. There are clues everywhere. All we have to do is pay attention and keep on sharing what we have with one another. We sail this ship together.

Clues have been on my mind of late. This is due in no small part to a recent etymological discovery. I recently learnt of origins of the word “Clue”. It was an amazing discovery. A true adventure, involving Greek Mythology.

The word “clue,” as in “a piece of evidence used as a guide in solving a mystery or a problem,” originally means “a ball of thread,” spelled “clew.” (CLEW). Now this raises a question, what on earth has thread got to do with clues? Well, the answer is the story of Ariadne, Theseus, the labyrinth and the Minotaur.

In Greek mythology the Minotaur is a terrifying monster, half human and half bull, born on the island of Crete. Now to keep the Minatour from hurting people, the king of the island makes Daedalus, an inventor and architect, create a labyrinth that the Minotaur will never be able to escape from.

One day the kings son is killed in Athens. The king is so incensed that he declares war on. The Athenians are defeated and as punishment they are forced to send seven girls and seven boys to Crete every year., where they were forced into the labyrinth, where the Minotaur devours them.

One year Theseus, the son of the king of Athens, decides to go to Crete in order to kill the Minotaur and stop the sacrifices. When Theseus arrives in Crete he meets Ariadne, the king’s daughter, and she falls in love with him. Theseus tells Ariadne that he intends to kill the Minotaur and that he will marry her if she helps him. This when Ariadne gives him a ball of thread, called a “clew,” which Daedalus had given her, and she tells Theseus that if he keeps hold of the thread he will find his way back out of the labyrinth with it. He ties one end of the thread to the door of the labyrinth, manages to find and kill the Minotaur deep inside the labyrinth, and then follows the thread back out.

This though doesn’t necessarily answer how the thread came to mean “Clue”. Well the word “clew” always meant both “a ball of thread” and “something that guides a person out of a difficult or mysterious situation.” The spelling changed from “clew” to the modern “clue,” in the early 17th century and thus the word we sue today was born and became a clue we might follow, in order to find an answer.

If we follow the clues we will be led out the labyrinth to safety no matter how lost we may feel at the time. I feel it is the same in life, certainly my life. It does not mean we won’t face misfortune and even disaster from time to time. That said if we keep hold of the thread and take care of the thread we will find our way back home.

When I think of clues etc and those who paid attention and followed them I think of the great detectives of fiction. I have always loved detective stories. My favourite tv programs tend to involve mysteries and detection. As I child I loved Agatha Christie. When relaxing of an evening I love nothing more than watching detective series, new and old. I’m just as happy watching “Murder She Wrote” as I am watching any of the high tech modern series. I’m just as happy watching Bazil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes as I would be watching NCIS or “The Miss Fisher Murder Mysteries”. There is something in the searching for clues and answers and coming to conclusions that I suspect I love in these books and films and activities. I know I am not alone.

The great detectives unearthed the clues by paying attention, particularly to the people around them. Perhaps the most subtle and seemingly innocent was Miss Marple. She had developed a simple down to earth understanding of people, during her time growing up the village of St. Mary Mead. She saw through attentive eyes and had an ability to connect the details and stories together and relate them to people she had known in a her long life. She would hear the details of a murder and say something like, “That reminds me of poor Mr or Mrs so and so …” And how this little problem that they had tried or had caused would be related to the murder. Miss Marple paid attention to people, she paid attention to the world around her, connecting it all together. To me this is the key to spiritual living, to pay attention, to make connections and then to put them into practical application. The key is not to merely ask questions and search for answers but to piece it together and live them as a conclusion in life. The key is to do as Rilke suggested “To live the questions” and in so doing you might just live your way into the answers. This is done in our very human and real lives, by paying attention to one another and by paying attention to life. This is how we follow the clues in the labyrinth of life.

This brings to mind a favourite poem “Love at First Sight” by Wislawa Szyborska

"Love at First Sight" by Wislawa Szymborska's

They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd been nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets,
staircases, hallways —
perhaps they've passed by each other a
million times?

I want to ask them
if they don't remember —
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver? —
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.
They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps, three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases, checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.

This beautiful poem “Love at first sight”, by Wislawa Szymborska, describes two lovers engaged in a display of public affection. I get the impression that the author is convinced that some guiding force is at work in their interaction. What begins as “Chance”, then becomes “Destiny” which “pushed them close, drove them apart”. The poem suggests that these lives were scripted long ago in a “book of events”, which cannot be altered, try as we might. The poem suggests that the lovers have passed by one another many times before, but were never aware or ready to make that first point of contact. That there were signs along the way and that one day this encounter would happen, but it was more than mere chance, something else was at work offering itself to both of them. It just took this moment for it to happen.

In many ways this is how I see life these days. So many possibilities are going on all around us. Some good, others not so good. So many joys, tragedies, triumphs, failures, frustrations, crises, endless possibilities good and bad. Life offers itself to us, but so often we close ourselves off from it. One thing I have noticed is that as I have allowed life itself to guide me I have become more open I am to life itself and the more connected I have felt, the more aware I have become of experiencing meaning and making meaning filled decisions. As I have done so I experienced a greater sense of belonging to myself, those people I share my life with and this world in which we all live and breathe and share our being.

The more I have lived this way the more I have noticed the meaningful coincidences in life. Some say this is how it is meant to be, I am not wholly convinced of this, I prefer to see it as this how it could be if I allow myself to follow the rhythm of life. If I do I notice the so called coincidences, the synchronicities of life. If I follow the thread, If I follow the “clew”, If I follow the clues everyway. All I have to do is pay attention.

To follow the clues is to truly live the questions and thus therefore one day hopefully live our way into the answers. This requires us to pay attention, to pay attention to everyone and then relate it our own experiences, like Miss Marple did. To find the answers she paid attention to life, to other people and to her own intuition. She lived her way into the answers by merely paying attention. She followed the clues, the thread.

I was paying attention on Thursday morning sitting in meditationI heard the language of the heart touch me deeply as people spoke and yet at the same time I could hear clearly all the sounds of life outside. I could hear the traffic, I could hear the birds singing and I could hear the wind, and as I did the words shared penetrated me more deeply. As I listened I found the clues and began to live my way in answers. And what is the answer you might ask? Well, the answer is to pay attention, pay attention to everything. In so doing you will begin to live your way into the answers. All you have to do is pay attention to clues, to follow the thread.

I’m going to end this morning with a favourite poem By William Stafford “The Way It Is”. It is about the thread that runs through life, that will guide us home if we follow the Mythos of Theseus and always hold on to it.

“The Way It Is” by William Stafford

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"