They Might be Giants: Finding the Courage to Overcome

It has been quite a summer of sport. It is not over just yet, we are still in July after all. I have enjoyed it immensely, the hopes and dreams and ups and downs, that for most has ultimately ended in disappointment. There have been quite a few underdog stories too. Most of us love an underdog story, probably because it taps into the dream that one day, by some miracle perhaps, we might become victorious.

Before I came to live in this area I knew very little about Urmston and Altrincham. I had heard of Urmston only because of one of the characters from “Dinner Ladies”, that wonderful comedy by Victoria Wood. I only knew of Altrincham from watching the football results and the mythos of their giant killing days in the FA Cup. It has been a great honour to serve the good folk of both places these last 16 years.

Now it was this year’s FA Cup that brought a local giant killing to mind, perhaps the greatest. This was when Non-League Macclesfield Town slayed Premier League Crystal Palace. Crystal Palace were actually the FA Cup defending champions having won it 2025, how the mighty fall. Other examples of minnows defeating or shining against the giants were Cape Verdi in the World Cup, drawing nil-nil with the eventual champions Spain. Cape Verdi did not lose a game in their group and were only beaten by the finalist Argentina in extra time, Argentina had scored an equaliser in injury time of normal time. Now despite a few hiccups the giants did eventually gain victory, the top four ranked teams in the world filled all four semi-final places.

There were two wonderful examples of minnows defeating giants in tennis too. Maja Chwalinska ranked 114 in the world and a wild card reached the French open final. Then the British qualifier Arthur Fery, another a wild card and coincidentally also ranked 114 in the world, reached the semi-final at Wimbledon before succumbing to the giant Alexander Zverev. I remember watching them walk side by side and thinking this truly looks like a David and Goliath rematch as Zverev stands 6 feet and six inches, Arthur Fery is just 5 feet 9 inches tall, almost a foot shorter. Instead of shaft the size of a weaver’s beam, his weapon of choice was his tennis racket.

In such encounters Goliath usually wins, but not always. Sometimes the underdog does win. The small does overcome the giant. Courage can be found if we carry it within our hearts. The 19th century Unitarian minister, Theodore Parker, said, “The arc of the Universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” He believed that there was some deep and powerful force in the Universe that stands behind the weak and the small when they fight against the more powerful. The story of David and Goliath, the little shepherd boy, the runt of his family, the eighth born son, who defeated the most powerful warrior in the world, asks us, “Where would we find such courage?” Sport can be a wonderful metaphor for this, sometimes the mighty do fall and the righteous do indeed overcome.

I am sure we are all familiar with the story of David and Goliath. I know as a child I found it compelling. It made me think that the weak sensitive child that I was would one day stand up to bullying giants of life. I still live with this childlike hope. I know I am not alone.

The story of slaying of the giant Goliath is to be found in the Old Testament book of Samuel. Here is an extract from 2 Samuel Ch 21 v 19

“Then there was another battle with the Philistines at Gob, and …………… killed Goliath the Gittite, the shaft of whose spear was like a weaver’s beam.”

Do you know who killed Goliath in 2 Samuel? Say it out loud to yourself.

Well, in the “ Samuel it was someone named “Elhanan son of Jaare-oregim the Bethlehemite”

Here is the full verse: “19 Then there was another battle with the Philistines at Gob, and Elhanan son of Jaare-oregim the Bethlehemite killed Goliath the Gittite, the shaft of whose spear was like a weaver’s beam.”

The story of David slaying Goliath is actually found in the 1st Book of Samuel, which describes Goliath there in the following way 1 Samuel Ch 17 vv 4-7

“4 And there came out from the camp of the Philistines a champion named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was four[a] cubits and a span. 5 He had a helmet of bronze on his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of bronze. 6 He had greaves of bronze on his legs and a javelin of bronze slung between his shoulders. 7 The shaft of his spear was like a weaver’s beam, and his spear’s head weighed six hundred shekels of iron, and his shield-bearer went before him.”

“The shaft of his spear was like a weaver’s beam”

Now to add to the confusion here is an extract from 1 20 Chronicles, probably written a couple of centuries after the book of Samuel. This section depicts the battles of David and his army at war, including with giants. There are many battles depicted as David was the warrior king.

“5 Again there was war with the Philistines, and Elhanan son of Jair killed Lahmi the brother of Goliath the Gittite, the shaft of whose spear was like a weaver’s beam.”

All three accounts use this same description of the shaft of a spear being like “a weaver’s beam”

Confusing isn’t it. How do we make sense of these seeming contradictions.

Biblical scholar Dan McClellan describes the slaying of Goliath as one of the biggest contradictions in the Bible. The Bible in McClellen’s understanding is not a univocal text, meaning it does not speak with one voice, nor should it be viewed this way. Instead, it is a text to be engage with. I am in great sympathy with Dan.

So, who was it who slayed the Giant Goliath, the shaft of whose spear was like a weaver’s beam?

McClellan’s highlights several academic observations that reveal that the account in 2 Samuel of Elhanan of Bethlehem slaying Goliath pre-dates the account of David in 1 Samuel. That as the legend of David grew editors of the Davidic tradition appropriated the heroic feat of Elhanan to build up the myth of David, as the heroic underdog and creating a different kind of giant mythology. He highlights that the account in Chronicles is an attempt to show Elhanan as the slayer of Goliath’s brother Lahmi. By the way there are many accounts of giants being slayed and warriors going into battle. David is viewed as this warrior king who came from nothing to lead armies with ingenuity and skill.

The central claim of McClellan is that these account’s were ways to attempt to build up the legend of David as this little man who through courage and ingenuity slayed the giants. It is a wonderful mythos and like so many heroic figures of human mythology contains truth and exaggeration. In my view knowing this does not down play the idea of courage and guile to allow the small and seemingly weaker overcoming the giant, at least sometimes. Like all heroes such figures are flawed and sometimes their supporters build them up in order enlarge the mythos.

Here Dan McClellan explores the David and Goliath contrdictions.

 
We find our own truth in such tales and this is what matters to me. I wonder who your favourite underdog is, ancient or modern. Mine is probably “Daniel-San” from “The Karate Kid”, a story clearly influenced in part by the story of David and Goliath. Or perhaps Luke in the original Star Wars film “Episode IV” “A New Hope”. Surely Luke destroying the Death Star by finding it’s one vulnerability is another example of the David and Goliath Mythos. Or perhaps Achillies from “The Odyssey”, out now at the movie theatres, is another example. Even the mightiest fall, for they have their weak spots.

I recently listened to a Podcast by Malcolm Gladwell. He was discussing his book “David and Goliath” it takes a very different view to the conventional understanding, highlighting that David’s skill actually put him at an advantage. He highlights that often in war the mightier do not prevail and the righteous more often than we would think can become victorious, not through might, but through guile and skill. He highlights that sometimes our seeming weakness can become our strength. I know myself I was often told that I was overly sensitive as a child and that I would not survive in this world if I didn’t change. There was truth in this. That said I know today that my sensitivity is one of my greatest assets in my life. It just needed to be used in the right way. It turned out to be my stone that slayed my inner Giant. The central theme that Gladwell highlights is that the very thing that puts you at a disadvantage forces you to creatively reinvent the rules of the game to amazing effect. You develop new kinds of skills to compensate for the areas where you are weakest and you approach the world with a fresh kind of offbeat vision. You play a different game and suddenly your powerlessness becomes the very root of your power. It can be disarming, it can be thrilling, it can be wildly successful.

The message at the heart of the life of Jesus teaches this. I don’t mean the mythos developed around him and often the religion built from him, but the radical message he brought. He came to reform his religion to bring it back to the people, but not through power in a conventional sense. Being an ordinary working man it prevented him from doing so in a conventional way, so he followed his own path. He used what he had, he made the most of his simple gifts. He refused conventional status and power and created new terms of success showing how the so called losers became winners and winners became losers. He said “Blessed are the peacemakers.” “Blessed are those that hunger and thirst for righteousness… blessed are the merciful… blessed are the pure in heart…” Jesus taught that success was measured by how loving and compassionate you are. Instead of accumulating wealth and power here, “store up treasure in heaven where moth and vermin do not destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal.” The problem was the worship of other things, such giants actually got in the way, “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” He contested all the social values of his day and invited the people into a different dimension of spiritual living.

Sadly, this is a message that has so often been lost in the religion created in his name and much religion actually. Sadly, too often the worship of other God’s and monster have taken over. Too often, as in the original story, David becomes the Goliath.

Now the David’s and Goliath’s come in many forms; they do not necessarily come in human form; the giants, the monsters, the unsurmountable obstacles incarnate in various ways. It takes faith and hope and courage to overcome them, even if we have failed many times. It is the faith, hope and courage that enables us to stand up and try once again.

Mark Nepo takes an interesting slant on this ancient Mythos. In the “Book of Awakening” he writes about the Goliath’s in life being the towering unsurmountable obstacles that we all face. The impossible dream, the heartbreaking challenges of love and loss such as grief, chronic illness and the personal traumas we all face. Every day I find myself in conversations with folk living through challenges of all kinds, and of finding the faith, hope and courage to overcome their own personal Goliath’s.

Mark Nepo describes his own battles with his own Goliath’s. After surviving a rare form of lymphoma in the 1990s, he emerged with profound insights on suffering, transformation, faith, hope and resilience. These were the equivalent to the five stones that David carefully selected. Nepo was taught the true meaning of courage, of love. He learnt that these seemingly unsurmountable obstacles were not giants or monsters to be slain, but teaches, hard lessons that compel us to strip away the things that do not really matter in life, discover where the true meaning is found and uncover the true courage at the heart of our being. Not in vainglory but as people of faith and hope and love.

We all face our mythological giants in life. I wonder what has been your greatest challenges and how you have walked through them, overcome them. Some of us maybe facing some now. What has carried you through? What were your five selected stones that helped you defeat your Goliath? What stories, mythos helped carry you through? Not what hero fought your battle, but who or what inspired you keep on taking the next step, the one of courage to keep on walking on through.

May we all find the faith, the hope and courage to face what we encounter on our journey through life. May we find the love to encourage one another to keep on, no matter how many times we might fall.

I’m going to end this with this piece.

“My Heart Fights for Those Who Can't Fight” by Sara Sutherland Dean

Someone called me a “bleeding heart liberal.” It was not intended as a compliment. However, I will always consider it one of the biggest compliments of my life.

My heart bleeds for the underdog.
My heart fights for those who can’t fight.
My heart rejoices in seeing others overcome adversity.
My heart desires love and peace for everyone.
My heart is compassionate and empathetic.
My heart sees pain in others and wants to help.
My heart believes in equality.
My heart sees the good in people.
My heart chooses action over fear.

Amen

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

There must be another way — a way to unself just enough to remember each other

It is said that soon after his enlightenment that the Buddha passed a man on the road who was struck by the Buddha's extraordinary radiance and peaceful presence. The man stopped and asked, "My friend, what are you? Are you a celestial being or a god?"

"No," said the Buddha.

"Well, then, are you some kind of magician or wizard?"

Again the Buddha answered, "No."

"Are you a man?" "No."

"Well, my friend, then what are you?"

The Buddha replied, "I am awake"

The Buddha was awake, he was fully conscious to all that is and all that will ever be. He was fully integrated, he did not see himself as separate, well he did not see himself at all.

Now this is not a claim I would or could make about myself. I can be self conscious at times, aware of my short comings and frustrations. I more liberate from this than when I was younger. Some days I feel free and others I can get caught up in my shortcomings.

As a child I was very self conscious about the way I moved. This became excruciating as a teenager. I was born some of the nerve endings at the base of my spine underdeveloped. It was something akin to a less severe form of spina bifida. As a child I had to frequently go for physiotherapy and there was a period when I was not allowed to engage in any sport. I hated the feeling it engendered in me as I looked at the other kids running around in the playground, knowing I wasn’t allowed to join in.

It was a few years later when the pain really hit me though, in my mid to later teens when I was painfully aware of the way I walked. I waddled when I moved, I still do now. I remember walking down the street of the town I grew up in and whenever I saw someone walking towards me, especially teenage girls, I would stand up straight and attempt to push my feet inwards in the vain hope that they wouldn’t think that there was something wrong with me. I must have looked a right sight.

I was just so terribly self-consciousness, locked in on what I believed was wrong with me. As I look back now’ I’m not wholly convinced that the problem was my perceived physical imperfections. I suspect that if I’d been born without this physical difficulty the problem would have manifested in other areas of my life. The problem was the self-consciousness, I was locked in myself and therefore not fully conscious, I was separate and felt alone.

One thing I’ve learnt over the years is that I am not alone in this. So many suffer from self-consciousness, feel lost, lonely and cut off because they are locked in what they believe is wrong with them. Sometimes it is harder to see what is right, than what is wrong. This is a deeply lonely, isolated, way to be.

Socrates said that “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Now while not wishing to argue with the great philosopher I do wonder if the “over examined life” can prove just as worthless. It is so easy to get lost in oneself, wrapped up in our own underwear to such an extent that we do not live at all. We can become so self-conscious that we fail to become conscious of all that is and all that as ever been. It is so easy to become wrapped up in our own perceived needs that we fail to live in the world with others and then complain about feeling lonely. Yes it is important to examine ourselves, to understand who we are and what makes us tick, but that should not be an end in itself, a destination. It is a staging post in the spiritual adventure, but not an end in itself.

I have had several conversations with people recently who have been struggling with severe self-consciously, manifesting as pride. Bruce Lee observed "the core of pride is self-rejection" and Agnes Martin knew when she cautioned that pride destroys freedom, joy and creativity. The ancient Greeks had a word for the ultimate self-consciousness “hubris”; the most destructive form of pride; a pride that puts yourself at the centre of the universe. This strange and terrible kind of total self-consciousness invariably ends in self-annihilation. Think of Narcissus who was so locked into his own reflection that he drowned. The great writers of tradgedy have always understood this, from Sophocles to Shakespeare. We witness it in the monsters of history and some world leaders of our age.

One antidote to such destructiveness is to live creatively. Madeleine L’Engle wrote on this:

“Creativity is an act of discovering. The very small child, the baby, is still unself-conscious enough to take joy in discovering himself: he discovers his fingers; he gives them his complete, unself-conscious concentration.”

Continuing…

“The kind of unself-consciousness I’m thinking about becomes clearer to me when I turn to a different discipline: for instance, that of playing a Bach fugue at the piano, precisely because I will never be a good enough pianist to play a Bach fugue as it should be played. But when I am actually sitting at the piano, all there is for me is the music. I am wholly in it, unless I fumble so badly that I perforce become self-conscious. Mostly, no matter how inadequate my playing, the music is all that matters: I am outside time, outside self, in play, in joy. When we can play with the unself-conscious concentration of a child, this is: art: prayer: love.”

I think we all have activities that make us feel free. Free to be ourselves and be part of something more than our mere selves and part of something larger. I know I am when I sing freely. When I feel confident and comfortable enough with a piece of music. I can express myself freely, but freely as a part of something more than myself.

When I feel free in song I embody those words of Maria Popova:

“There must be another way — a way to unself just enough to remember each other, to grow a little more awake to this world that shimmers with wonder, of which any one self is only a fleck.”

When singing I unself just enough to feel fully part of the “Musica Universalis”, I feel a little more awake in the world that shimmers, I am one self in an incredible interconnected universe.

Negative self absorption keeps us separate, locked into all that is wrong with ourselves or all that is wrong with the world. When you look at your own reflection in the mirror, what do you see? Do you see someone that you love? Do you see who you really are? While we may see ourselves warts and all, how many of us see the beauty spots too? The self-absorption that most people I come into contact with suffer from, tends to be a deeply ingrained negative type. The preoccupation is often with what is wrong with them, with their shame, rather than how wonderful they are. Also the pride is in worrying what people think of them, that someone might just see their flaws and reject them.

This kind of self-consciousness can become so consuming that it takes over our human interactions. I wonder how many of us suffer from this kind of commentary when we meet up with people. “What will they think of me?” “How do I look?” “If I say something, will they think I’m an idiot?” and then as it continues, “He gave me a funny look, he must have thought me a fool. Why on earth did I have to make that stupid remark? Gosh I’m such a freak, they all seem to be staring at me.”

This kind of inner dialogue can be so crippling. It can haunt us from the moment we wake and continue throughout our day, eating away at our every decision. Oh and of course because we doubt ourselves and every decision we make, we assume that everyone else must be doing exactly the same thing. This kind of self-consciousness can be so crippling and it blocks us off almost entirely from the world around us. We can be consumed by this kind of self-consciousness we see the world from our own point of view and it aint a pretty one.

So what can we do about it? How do we wake up to a greater consciousness? How do we break free from this crippling self-consciousness?

In the Gospel’s Jesus taught his followers that they must lose themselves in order to be found. That by emptying ourselves of our self-absorption we begin to be filled with the spirit of neighbourliness. So that when we look deeply into the still waters we are not drawn in by narcissistic self-consciousness and loathing at our own reflection, but rather into a deeper contemplation of our shared lives. We become conscious of all that is, all that has been and all that will ever be. By opening ourselves to and for others we begin to shed that debilitating skin of self-consciousness that is so easy to become imprisoned in.

Gandhi said “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in service of others”

The Buddha talked of Nirvana, of being freed from the suffering that was the blight of humanity. He showed that we all suffered and that it was in seeing our suffering as individual that led to this sense of separation. He suggested that we needed to break through our suffering not only to serve others but to reach a higher state of being, true consciousness, to be awake.

Now please don’t get me wrong I am not suggesting that we do not need to know ourselves to understand how we tick. All I am saying is that we must not get stuck there, we must not get lost there and we must not see this as a destination, more a staging post on the journey. The adolescent stage I suspect. Sadly, for many folk, me included, this adolescent stage often goes well into adulthood.

I remember another antidote that probably fuels creativity suggested in Forrest Church’s “Lifecraft”, a book suggesting ways to make life an act of creation, a way to move from self-consciousness to consciousness. He offered three simple suggestions, which he called the three “E’s”, “empathy”, “ecstasy” and “enthusiasm”. The key he claimed could be found in the literal understanding of these words. “Empathy”, to suffer or feel with another; “Ecstasy”, to stand outside ourselves; “Enthusiasm”, to manifest the god (theos) within us.

Empathy is a deep felt compassion. When we open our hearts empathically to another we are courageously refusing to allow self-consciousness to stand in the way of a higher consciousness that comes into being as we feel what another is going through. In so doing we serve both ourselves and the other person, as well as that higher consciousness beyond our singular selves.

Now ecstasy has often been misunderstood as some kind of hedonistic state and therefore self- indulgent, it is far from this. In its truest sense what it actually does is takes us out of ourselves and lifts us beyond the confines of ourselves. In so doing we transcend our self-consciousness and enter a realm in which purpose begins to emerge and meaning is found.

Enthusiasm means to be filled with spirit, with holy energy. Enthusiasm allows us to be fully involved and engaged in whatever it is we are doing. It allows us to see beyond the confines we have created. Forrest himself states that “Here, once again, consciousness displaces self-consciousness. We escape from our mirrored room. Its mirrors turn into windows. Or the pond grows so still that we can see beyond our own reflection to the trees and clouds and birds and sun. There is, by the way, no higher form of spiritual practice. When we step out of our own shadow, consciousness replaces self-consciousness.”

In so doing we are set free to walk with others in our own faltering ways. Instead of being lost in what we believe is wrong with us we are set free to do what we can in this our shared world and in so doing we encourage others to do the same, as perfectly imperfect children of God.

For me the purpose of the spiritual life is to develop a deepening sense of connection. We all have our troubles and our worries either within ourselves, those around us or wider world. We need to see them for what they are, we need to acknowledge the truth, but we must not get stuck there, for that will paralyse us and stop us doing what we can. We cannot change the way the world is but that need not prevent us from doing what we can do and in doing so we will grow spiritually as we become integrated into all that has been, all that exists and all that will ever be.

As a kind of conclusion I’d like to leave you with one final thought. I think that so much of modern spiritually gets it wrong because it is seeking the wrong thing. There is so much talk of finding ourselves, when in actual fact what we ought to be doing is losing ourselves. What we ought to be striving for, I believe, is integration and remove those aspects within ourselves that block this. We all ask the question “Who am I?” when really we ought to asking is “How am I doing? And if we are still feeling utterly dis-connected we need to ask why? And how can I integrate once again? You see if we can begin to integrate with all that is, all that has been and all that has ever been we begin to truly cohere. In doing so we transcend our self-consciousness and become conscious. We become spiritually mature. We become like the Buddha, awake.

So how conscious are you today? Are you truly awake?

If not. I have found a way to unself just enough so that we remember each other, to remember we are part of something wonderful and greater than our little selves. To feel a little more awake in this world that shimmers. To know that our single selves are just a fleck, but a vital part of the “Musica Universalis”

“There must be another way — a way to unself just enough to remember each other”

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

 

Perspective: It Depends on Angles of Vision

I will begin with a tale that can be told almost entirely by a shrug. It is a story that I have loved and been irritated by in equal measure. It has meant different things to me over the years, depending on my own angle of vision, my perspective. The state of my mind, my heart and soul at the time. The lens through which I was reading it. It will lead us into a conversation about perspective, which is this week’s perspective. It’s a story about a farmer and his horse, but I like to call it maybe, maybe not.

“Let’s Wait and See”

The story goes that an old farmer is working hard in the fields. He has a wife and a son, and ekes out a meagre living. One day, his only horse runs away. Upon hearing this, his neighbours comment "Oh, how awful! That is terrible!" to this the farmer replied:

"Maybe, maybe not." “Let’s Wait and See”

A few days later, the farmer's horse returns and with it is another, exotic horse from far away. The horse is a mare, and is of rare value. The neighbours, upon hearing this, exclaim "How wonderful! It's fantastic that your horse returned and brought another horse with it!". The farmer shrugged and said:

"Maybe, maybe not." “Let’s Wait and See”

The farmer's horses gave him many young, prized colts making the farmer very wealthy in the town. The neighbours were very happy for the farmer saying; "This is so fantastic! Your new horses have brought you much fortune!" The farmer responded:

"Maybe, maybe not." “Let’s Wait and See”

The farmer's son, now a young man, tried to tame one of the young colts and was thrown from the horse, breaking his hip. This left the son unable to walk. The neighbours came to help and tried to console the farmer saying; "Oh, how awful! Your only son will never walk again!". The farmer, who was not upset, simply said:

"Maybe, maybe not." “Let’s Wait and See”

Later that year, the farmer's country went to war, and the army came by to conscript every able bodied man for duty. The farmer was too old to be taken, and his son could not walk, therefore he was excused. The army simply took the farmer's horses, leaving him just his original horse to allow him to keep farming.

Was the farmer's life good? Maybe. Was the farmer's life bad? Maybe not.

Good luck and bad luck are two sides of the same coin...it really depends on the perspective that we choose, on our angle of vision.

I eased my way into Monday. Did a bit of admin and thought I had better take Molly out for a walk, before it got too hot. She didn’t seem mad keen. She would rather just sit around the chapel gardens all day; I think she would have been far happier just sitting outside on the grass. We wandered towards town. After going to the toilet outside the town hall, she again hinted to go home. I thought no I have work to do today and I don’t want to take you out later when it will be very hot. I did though let her take the lead and go in any direction she wanted. After a time walking around the back of the market and health centre she made her way to Café Nero. I ordered my coffee and they offered Molly some milk. We laughed at her recent refusal to drink out of a paper cup, only porcelain for Molly and her refusal to drink warmed milk, only cold fresh milk for her. She is a girl who knows what she likes. I thought we would head toward the park, but oh no she wanted to sit outside and I thought ok. Unfortunately, there was only space in the shade. Molly wanted the sun and kept on inching toward the sunspots. There were several other people around just enjoying the day. Two young people came to sit down, they seemed happy and full of life. I noticed one had arms covered in small and large scars, they looked like they must have been caused by self-harm. I imagined the pain that they must have gone through and experienced in life. That said they were sat there out in the sun, with no shame. They just happily chatting away about life, enjoying the sun.

In a little while a friend passed by. He was in Altrincham for an appointment. He had got the times wrong and was two hours early. So, we sat and talked about all sorts for a while. I mentioned the two young people. It was fascinating as he had a completely different perspective to me. He talked about the journey that the person may well have been on and that the scars were marks of survival, of healing, of becoming who they are. I am glad he looked at the scene from an entirely different angle to mine. This led to a fascinating conversation about perspective and how we see things. How what we often see in life and the world, in literature and the ancient texts says as much about the state our inner life as it does the state of the world. We see, we read, we evaluate due to the condition of our condition. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but perhaps it is through our souls that the eyes see the world.

I guess it all depends on angles of vision

This brings to mind a favourite song of mine called “High” from the album of the same name by New Model Army released in 2007, particularly the following lyrics

All these things you fear so much depend on angles of vision
From down in the maze of walls you can't see what's coming
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing, nothing.

Here is the song

Just then Molly’s best friend Ronnie walked by with his owner. This changed her whole perspective and suddenly she wanted to go off to the park and play. I enjoyed an interesting conversation before heading home with thoughts of perspective in my mind. Earlier my friend at Café Nero had asked me about how I write and create worship. He had asked me about the video I had produced based on last Sunday’s service on hospitality. He had run it through AI and had come up with a fascinatingly accurate overview. I thought I could have done with that when creating publicity, as it summed it up better than I had. Another fascinating perspective. I then told him that a few years ago while watching an episode of “The Simpson” I realised that my style of writing was very much like an episode of the “The Simpson”. In that I set off in one direction and then at some point early on I tend to veer off in the direction I always meant to go. Sometimes it is hard to see the link. I’m about to do it in a moment or two. I call it “The Simpson Method”, I think at first he thought it was an official style, until he realised I was messing about, just something I made up.

So here we go on a journey around perspective, No doubt you won’t quite see it through my angle of vision.

Perspective, how we view ourselves and our world, impact of how we view the contours of our lives. Yes, external circumstances have a massive impact, but it isn’t just about them. We see through our eyes and our vision is shaped by our souls. Discovering a healthy perspective is vital to the good life. This might just be what they mean when they speak of enlightenment. A healthy perspective will enable us to persevere with tenacity throughout the ups and downs of life, much like the farmer in the earlier story. I have a friend who often talks about his grandmother telling him that what he needed in life was perseverance, something he never truly understood until he entered the second half of life. True perspective is what will carry us through the ups and downs of life. I suspect that it may well be that “pearl of great price” that Jesus spoke of in Matthews Gospel.

It matters how we look at things, how we see the world, it creates our perspective. It also matters how the world sees us. It was fascinating listening to my friend’s perception of the young person outside the coffee shop, it opened my eyes that day. It matters how we see the world and it matters equally how the world sees us. Monday was one of those days filled with fascinating interactions and conversations. Ones I had no idea I would experience when I woke. Were they good, were they bad, maybe, maybe not. If nothing else they filled my heart and soul with nourishment, that I am attempting to share with you who have ears to hear.

“Perceive” is an interesting word. It shares the same Latin root as the word “receive”. They both come from “percipere” which meant “to understand”, from “per” meaning “entirely” and “capere” meaning “to take”. So, to “perceive” something means to take things in entirely, completely, in a way that covers us with understanding. So yes it is interesting how we perceive things, how we take things in. I wonder already how you are perceiving this video.

It matters how we perceive how we take in life, this depends on angles of vision. No one sees things directly, exactly as they are. My friend and I had a long conversation about how people hear what you say. How people have interpreted things that we have said and come to the exact opposite conclusion to the point you were making. This is an interesting contrast to his AI tool. Not that AI doesn’t have biases, of course it does, placed there by those who created the tool. We all look into the glass dimly, or at least from angles. We look at the world through a mirror in some degree as we see it through our lens, not clear glass. No one experience things as they are, it comes to each of us through all kinds of filters? We all have our biases and prejudices. Does anyone ever really see things exactly as they are? We do not look at the world through untarnished eyes.

The physicist David Bohm asserted that: “What we take to be true is what we believe. What we believe is based upon our perceptions. What we perceive depends on what we look for. What we look for depends on what we think. What we think depends on what we perceive. What we perceive determines what we believe. What we believe determines what we take to be true. What we take to be true is our reality.”

Reality can be very different for each of us. It matters how we see the world and how the world sees us. It is the same with what happens to us, our perspective and how we respond to what happens to us and the life in which we live and breath and share our being.

Was the farmer's life good? Maybe. Was the farmer's life bad? Maybe not.

Good luck and bad luck are two sides of the same coin. It depends on the perspective that we choose to view reality in any given situation.

How we perceive ourselves and how we perceive life matters, it shapes our perspective, how we view the world. Perspective shapes the contours of our lives. How we see the world depends on the angles of our vision. Our lives are not shaped only by our circumstances but how we respond to them. Do they close down our hearts, minds and souls or do they open us to new possibilities? If you are anything like me, it will be mixed. We all go through dark times, when how we see life is not so beautiful and we all go through times when how we perceive life is both beautiful and refreshing. Our perception of life really matters. For as Jesus said in Luke 11 “Your eye is the lamp of your body. If your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light; but if it is not healthy, your body is full of darkness.”

Perception is vital. It matters how we see the world and how the world sees us. It matters what we believe about ourselves and life. I believe that we are created in the Divine image, that there is that of God in each and everyone of us. I believe in the “inherent worth and dignity of every person.” It is important that is what people perceive when they see me as a Unitarian minister. I believe in original blessing and that it is our task to bring this blessing alive through our human being. Our vulnerable and sometimes broken human being. That we all have feet of clay, that we are perfectly imperfect, that it is ok to stumble and struggle at times. I trust this is obvious to you all. We all have feet of clay, we are all more human than otherwise. That said this does not mean that we are wrong that we are fundamentally flawed, that there is something wrong at the core of us. This my perspective and it influences how I see the world. This the lens. I do not look at the world through a perfectly clear cleanse. This is my bias if you like.

Perspective is so very important. It matters how we see things and how we are seen. It is important to see things as they are and to be seen as we are. It matters what we perceive and how we are perceived. Perception shapes how the world looks at us and equally perspective shapes how we look at the word. How we look at others is so important. We can look on people with compassion, or we can give them a “hard look”. Think about it when someone gives us a “hard look”, what do we do? Well often we turn away in fear, or respond in anger or aggression. What if someone looks at us with compassion, how do we respond to this? Well usually we look back with compassion. Well, we do unless we have fallen so far down into that pit of nihilistic despair that we respond to love with utter hatred. I’m sure most folk have been there at some point. I know that I have. So, it matters how we view our own humanity and how we view the humanity of each other.

How we act towards others really matters too. But it’s not just about doing what is right; it’s also about the spirit in which each task is conducted. We can appear to be encouraging and loving and doing the right thing, but our eyes may well say otherwise. Think about a smile. We think we smile with our mouths, but we do not, we smile with our eyes. When I smile my eyes almost slant shut. Whatever we do and however we do something our eyes will reveal the truth of our hearts and people will intuitively pick up on this. They will see it into our eyes.



How we see the world matters and how respond perhaps even more so. Life truly is in the “eye of the beholder”, it is about perception. How we see one another is vital, it is all about perspective. Try not to look so hard today and you never known those eyes looking back at you might just be stretched by a smile.

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

 

Hospitality: Come as you are, exactly as you are, but do not expect to leave in exactly the same condition”

I will begin with a classic bit of Rumi

"The Guest House" by Rumi  

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

I recently attended the funeral of my dear friend Nik’s mother, Helen. Helen was a very special person. She gave so much to so many by just being herself and making you feel welcome and accepted as you are. I have been reflecting on the impact that she had on my life as well as the life of others. While I was preparing thoughts I would share at the funeral, it dawned on me that she was one of the inspirations for my ministerial mantra, she certainly planted some seeds: “Come as you are, exactly as you are, but do not expect to leave in exactly the same condition.” I learnt that in her home where she made myself and so many others feel truly welcome. Her home always felt like a safe haven, a place of refuge. A place of welcome. Home. Certainly, Helen always made you feel that way. To quote the great Robert Frost:

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”

Now the thing about Helen is that she didn’t have to take you in, but she always did. More than that she encouraged and enabled you to be who you were in her company. This is true welcome. This is true openness. I think that sometimes we confuse what it means to be open. It is not to tell the whole world who you are, to pour yourself all over others, but allow those you meet to be who they are in your company. When I think of openness I see it as an Invitation to others, to come into your life.

Now while Helen always made us welcome, there were a couple of rules. She would say “I don’t mind you coming round, as long as you say hello” and “There’s two doors to this house, you come in one and if you don’t like it you go out the other.” So, you would arrive and say hello as Helen worked away on her knitting or stamps in the back room. I learnt the lesson the hard way about her rule. I didn’t need to learn it twice. As she told me straight when I didn’t pop round and say hello once.

Helen was of Polish decent and was born in Germany just after the “Second World War”. Her start to life was not easy. Her father died not long after she was born and as a young child she developed polio, spending months in hospital in an iron lung. Helen’s stay in the hospital lasted so long that she even began to call the nurses ‘mum’. Polio permanently handicapped her as she had one leg shorter than the other. The family eventually ended up in England. She could speak only Polish at first, but eventually became a fully fledge Yorkshire woman. She again learnt something of welcome in those early days as some made the family welcome where as others were suspicious of these strange sounding people. Helen’s sense of welcome was shaped very much by her early life. It also shaped her career as a theatre nurse. Many of her former colleagues attended her funeral. They all spoke of Helen is exactly the same way. Her welcome was her life.

Helen fell in love and married having two sons. Sadly her husband John died suddenly while on holiday from a brain haemorrhage. She brought up her boys alone, being both mother and father to them. Her son’s Nik and Anthony are two of the finest people you could meet. They carry that same spirit of openness and welcome. An absolute credit to her.

I spoke with several people family, friends, colleagues, friends of her sons and all had the same impression of Helen and her life and legacy. She is a wonderful example of what it means to live with welcome. She wanted you to be who you were, with love and respect. She acknowledged the inherent worth and dignity of all, although she would never have used such a phrase. She did so not by what she said, but by simply being who she was. Oh, by the way I am not attempting portray a saint here, she also had that classic Yorkshire bluntness and if you and done wrong she would tell you so. I learnt that once and never disrespected her again. She welcomed me with open arms though, not matter what condition I was in. She did the same with everyone.

This all got me thinking about welcome, about encouraging welcome, about encouraging folk to come and try again even if they have fallen short in life. It also got me thinking about how faith enables us to do some.

It brought to my mind those well known words of Rumi

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again , come , come.”

Jelaluddin Rumi

Rumi’s words bring to my mind the prodigal’s father. A lot of folk who ended up at Helen’s, who would go talk to her in her back room were struggling with life and she would listen without prejudice, just offering love. When I think of living in and by Grace this is what comes to my mind, to be that kind of person to others. To welcome another to be who they are is the ultimate of Grace we can offer one another. I’m sure Helen wouldn’t see it that way, she was just being herself. She was simply being hospitable. She lived with the memory of those who had offered it her, from a difficult beginning in life and at other stages too. She followed their loving Grace filled example. She also remembered those who made her feel unwelcome as she was a stranger in a strange land, at a difficult time of re-building in European history. Many of her parent’s families were murdered by the Nazi’s and she suffered loss and tragedy throughout her life. She witnessed and experienced a variety of examples and chose the path of love and hospitality, all her life.

Since Helen’s funeral I have been thinking about hospitality and how we might live hospitable lives. Lives of welcome and of healing and repair. We cannot do that to the whole world, but we can begin where we are and do what we can with what we have.

Hospitality is word that conjures images of the hotel industry in our day and age. The word though has a deeper spiritual history. It dates back to the early monasteries of the 5th century. Strangers would come in need of care. The word “Hospitality” originates from the Latin word “hospes” meaning both guest and host and stranger, the origin of the word is reciprocal in nature. At the heart of word is the link between welcoming travellers and caring for the vulnerable. The words hospital, hospice, hospitable, hospitality, bring to my heart and mind the idea of being generous, caring and sustaining, something I witnessed in Helen and many others. It is no surprise that Helen worked as a nurse all her life. Now like Helen there were rules in these ancient monasteries. The best known being that of St. Benedict. Benedict created a book of rules to live by, called The Rule of Benedict. Many monasteries still adhere to it today. The foundation of the rule was listening. “Listen with the ear of your heart,”

To be hospitable is to listen with an open heart; it is to allow the person in your company to speak, to be who they are. It is the key to my ministry and do know what I think I learnt it in Helen’s backroom as she would listen to me and my troubles when I would go to her home often in confusion and despair. She would welcome and listen to me in my prodigal shame. It wasn’t anything personal, she did it for so many, right up to the very end. She would call you a pain in the backside, but would sit you down and give you a cup of Mellow Birds and sometimes something a little stronger. It is strange to me but over the last few weeks, before Helen died, “Mellow Birds for mellow moments” has been singing in my heart and mind. The concept of mutual care and love as also been on my heart a lot too. That it is relational in nature, that folk walk together side by side, listening and sharing

It fascinates me that at its root in the Latin word “hospes”, hospitality meant both guest and host. This is a relational interchange. It brings to my mind an article I read by Renee Ruchotzke who wrote:

“I believe that the theological basis for hospitality – radical hospitality –is the concept of the Creative Interchange as expressed by process theologian Henry Nelson Wieman. In Wieman’s theological model, the source of human good is what he calls the Creative Interchange. You and I interact, we learn something new from one another, we absorb that experience into our own being, it enriches our experience of the world. Our enriched selves in turn enrich others in subsequent interactions. This ripple effect enriches the world. The more varied our experiences and the more we interact with different people, the greater the increase of human good.”

This to me is how we live hospitable lives; it is to be truly open and welcome to one another. Such living is truly transformative; such living embodies what I mean by my ministerial mantra “Come as you are, exactly as you are, but do not expect to leave in exactly the same condition.” To welcome the other you have to be welcome too. A real challenge in our time, but then again it is the same in any other time. It is always a challenge. There is nothing new under the sun.

Hospitality, living this way is not easy. There is the possibility of rejection and becoming vulnerable. Harm can come. Some can make you unwelcome. Some may take advantage. That said I believe that hospitality is essential if we are to begin to heal our broken communities and world. It probably begins one relationship at time, just a wall is repaired one stone at a time.

I have been remembering and honouring a life that touched me deeply the last couple of weeks. Someone who taught me hospitality and welcome. Not a perfect person, a very real one. One I didn’t realise at the time had had such an impact on me at such a difficult time in my life. Someone who loved me as I was by welcoming me exactly as I was. Someone who offered comfort and shelter and most importantly a listening ear, someone who listened with the ear of their heart.

As I said at her funeral.

“Helen was a remarkable woman. Someone who would make you feel welcome as you were. In my work my ministerial mantra is “Come as you are, exactly as you are…but do not expect to leave in exactly the same condition.” I have been thinking of these words these last few days and do know what I have only just realised where I learnt this. It was at 46 White Lee Road a place where you were always welcomed in, even if you were a pain in the arse.”

Thank you Helen for all that you gave to all of us. It is etched in my heart and soul as it is in that of so many of us.

Someone whose memory I hope will always live on in me.

I’m going to end with a little bit more of Rumi. A poem celebrating hospitality.

All religions, all this singing
One Song.
The differences are just
Illusion and vanity.
The Sun's light looks
A little different on this wall than
It does on that wall,
And a lot different on this other one,
But it's still one light.

We have borrowed these clothes,
These time and place personalities
From a light,
And when we praise,
We're pouring them back in.

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

The Little Prince and His Rose

Here is a short extract from children’s book “The Little Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In this extract “The Little Prince” is meeting the Fox for the second time and their conversation about what it means to be “tamed” continues.

The next day the little prince came back.

“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If, for example, you come at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you… One must observe the proper rites…”

“What is a rite?” asked the little prince.

“Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all.”

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near —

“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”

“It is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you…”

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“But now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.

“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.

“Then it has done you no good at all!”

“It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.” And then he added: “Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret.”

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

“You are not at all like my rose,” he said. “As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”

And the roses were very much embarrassed.

“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you — the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”

And he went back to meet the fox.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

“What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

“It is the time I have wasted for my rose — ” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose…”

“I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

A short extract from “The Little Prince”.

At a recent “Living the Questions” we explored the subject of “Duty”. It was a fascinating conversation. I noticed I had some internal resistance to the word, the concept, of “Duty”. I much prefer the idea of being responsible, of taking care of what is mine to take care. The idea of “Duty” not so much, as it feels imposed. For me to take responsibility, to take care, feels like an act of love. I suspect that this is what being described in the extract from “The Little Prince” that I just shared. This is what the Fox meant in “Taming”. Another word that I feel somewhat uncomfortable with. I understand what it means though in this context. In means to love, to care to nurture, to make special. As the Prince did with his rose.

The children’s novel “The Little Prince” tells the story of a Prince who grows frustrated with a rose that he adores and so he leaves his home planet, travels to several asteroids before running into a recently crashed pilot on earth. He tells the pilot about his rose how it sprouted and bloomed on his planet and how he quickly fell in love with it, despite her vanity and manipulation. The prince cares for the rose, watering her and keeping her safe and warm under a glass globe. In time he felt saddened and used and fled his planet in search for a cure for loneliness. He told the pilot of the people he met on his journey, what he learnt from the encounters and of his great responsibility for the rose. He tells of his hope to one day return to his planet to take care of the rose. It is not clear whether this ever happened, it is left open. Despite all the roses shortcomings The Prince loves his rose, this is the heart of the story.

There is a moment in the story when the prince enters a garden and realises that his beloved rose is not unique after all, which fills him with disappointment. Later he meets the fox. The fox is seeking friendship and teaches the prince how to bond and connect with others, how to tame and be tamed. The Little Prince learns the value of love, of care, of attention of responsibility for what you love. That love is not so much the object itself, but giving of yourself. It is a feeling that comes alive within you. He teaches the little prince the secret “

“and now, here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye”

The little prince learns that the flower is made special through the care and attention, because they have tamed each other. The Little Prince learns so much from this. When the prince and pilot find themselves lost in a desert, running out of water, they share the experience of seeking a well. The Little Prince manages to pass on the teachings learned by experience through another experience with the author. When they drank water from the well, it was more than just water, it was full of the love that they had shared.

“This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms. It was good for the heart like a present” (Chapter XXV)

Through that quest, the Little Prince has passed on what lies beneath and offers a second gift to the narrator:

“The thing that is important is the thing that is not seen”(Chapter XVI)

The story of the little prince reminds me of my friend Rob who comes to the chapel garden every year in remembrance of his dad. He has learnt from his dad’s life so much about care and attention. He nurtures his dad’s flowers and through this action his love from his father is brought to life. The love is alive through the flowers and time spent caring and nurturing the plants and flowers, including those around his dad’s grave. He and his dad are taming one another through care and attention and love is living on through the flowers that he loves to share. The love is not visible, but the flowers are. They are incarnations of that spirit. It is the same with God, as I understand God. That great love coming alive through living in and by that spirit. A spirit we ourselves bring to life through loving activity.

The Little Prince’s relationship with the fox, the pilot and his rose as well as Rob’s care for his dad’s legacy remind me of a book I read a few years “Letter’s to Sam: A Grandfather’s Lessons on Love, Loss and the Gifts of Life” by Daniel Gottlieb

Daniel a quadriplegic wrote the book as way of offering help and advice to his grandson Sam, who is autistic, to ease his attempts at navigating a life, in which he would always be dependent on others. It is a celebration of the worth and dignity of all people, that they can: "help teach people, that no matter what happens to our bodies or minds, our souls remain whole." It is not sugar coated, pain and how to live with it is a constant theme, as are the fears that come with pain. An example being Daniel’s reaction to being diagnosed with horrific sores. He describes his fear of being abandoned, a real fear as his wife has left, his sister who he depends on has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and his children have left him. He finds a way through, with faith and humour, these remain.

The letter and the whole book offer a way to live spiritually alive. The essence of which is responsibility. Daniel discloses in the letter that all of us have our own little patch of life that we are responsible for. It is not necessary to get a bigger patch or to make it better. The point is to take care of it with love and gratitude and joy. This is the key to living spiritually alive. It is a book about faith and doing what is ours to do. It brings to my mind those words from the Book of James “Faith without works is dead”. This reminds me so powerfully of Rob’s responsibility for his dad’s gardening, exemplified in the love care and attention he pays to his dad’s grave as well as his family.

I love how Daniel describes how all that he needed to heal his horrific sores was already there within him. That the key is to take care of that, to be responsible for his three millimeters. As he wrote:

"The doctor explained…Yes, he said, wounds do need oxygen to heal. But the oxygen is in the blood, not in the air. 'Everything a wound needs to heal is already in your body,' he explained. 'We just have to get access to those nutrients and let them work.'

"Those words stayed with me. If that was the way the body healed, what about the human spirit? Remembering the old prophetic story that tells how infants are born with all the wisdom they need to live, I realized that everything we needed to heal our hearts' wounds might already be in us too.”

Isn’t this so true, everything we need is already here, we just need to learn to take care of it and make best use of it. Like a flower we just need to nurture it for it to thrive. To care for it like the “Little Prince” did with his rose. This is the universal lesson, the key to me to the spiritual life, making the most of what is yours, of being responsible for what is yours, this is your gift. The key for Daniel was to take care of his piece of the universe, his three millimeters, his responsibility. As he wrote:

"Sam, part of the reason I'm at peace with my life is that I take care of the part of the universe I'm responsible for. I haven't made it bigger or better. I haven't changed it. But I have cared for it. Writing these letters to you is just one of many ways of tending my three millimeters.”

The key for all of us is to find our own three millimeters, our own Rose, or our own legacy that we need to nurture and pass on and share. To love and care for it and when our time is up to give back whatever life has lent to us. Whatever this might be it is for each of us to discover ourselves. It doesn’t have to be anything big and glorious. By taking care of what is close at hand sounds like the embodiment of faith and works to me. As Viktor Frankl stated it was the responsibility of each individual to find their own meaning in life, that this was in many ways the ultimate freedom and that it could not be prescribed for us. That said it was more than just our ultimate freedom, it was also our responsibility.

There is a wonderful ancient Jewish story about Rabbi Gamaliel. He was asked by one of his students if he thought he had done enough with his life. He pondered the question for a moment before answering...

“When I die, God will not ask me, ‘Gamaliel, why were you not an Abraham or a Moses? God will ask me, ‘Were you Gamaliel?’”

To be who we are means that we must embrace our God-given natures and talents; it means that we accept who we are and make the most of it; it means that we do not try to be something or someone we are not. We take responsibility for what we have been gifted. Our job is to nurture and develop these gifts not merely for ourselves, but for the good of all.

For the Little Prince it was his Rose and the invisible love that came alive in him when he did so. It was this this that made that ordinary rose extraordinary. For my friend Rob it is his father’s legacy, a love that keeps him focused on what he is here for. For Daniel Gottlieb it was his three millimetres. The key is to be responsible to love what is our responsibility. This is the spiritual life in its entirety. It is purpose and it is what will give our lives true meaning. In so doing we may just begin to create the “Kin-dom” of love right here, right now.

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

Let it show: Living in the Multitude of Layers and Contradictions

I have always been fascinated by folk, our complexities. No life is two dimensional we contain multitudes of layers that make our human personalities. People constantly surprise me. Truth be told I surprise myself. From a young age I spent most of my time watching and listening while others were off being who they were, expressing themselves. Even now when I am in a group of people I find myself caught up listening to many conversations at once. This can be quite tricky. I know I’m not the only one like this.

Most folk are surprised to hear me say that I spend most of my life silent, not speaking. Even when I am in company my ears are far more engaged than my mouth. This is who I am and yet my public persona is not this and I think people perceive me as someone who has a lot to say. This is not who I am. Maybe it is the paradox of my human being. Then again there are many layers to each one’s humanity, everyone contains multitudes of contradictions.

Our inner and our outer persona do not always align, or at least not to the casual observer. Hannah Arendt observed ““Nothing and nobody exists in this world whose very being does not presuppose a spectator.” For each of us, there is a public persona encasing the private person, an aspirational self, radiating from the real self.

We each have a public face that we show the world and then there is the inner person. We think we know each other, but in many ways we do not. This is often true of public figures who we are given a sanitised view of, but it isn’t their true selves. I have noticed this with footballers when they are interviewed. They give a cliched response often, saying very little, this is probably for fear of being misunderstood. When often what we would like is to see the real person. We rarely get to see the whole of anyone. We all wear masks.

I have been thinking much of my time as a ministry student in Macclesfield. We earlier heard a reading from Rev Michael Dadson who was minister on my first placement. It is a strange thing stepping into an unfamiliar congregation or in Peter’s case congregations. It took me quite some time to find my own voice there, to be myself. To be authentically me, to show anything of me for some time. I do remember this being noted by members of the congregation at the time and that when I began to speak more freely and openly and that they appreciated getting to know me. I learnt that the most personal is the most universal as it allows people to identify. You need to put flesh on the words. I think it was one of the most valuable lessons of ministry. I think that over time the mask did begin to slowly be removed and the person leading was closer to the real person. They got to see the man behind the mask, which I believe they were longing for. Now what is interesting is that I didn’t learn this from Michael as he rarely showed himself in such a way. That said we are not here mimic; we are here to become all that we can be. As Michael himself said in the earlier reading, we are here to let it show.

Masks have been on my mind of late. I was reminded of terrifying children’s character the other day “Noseybonk” or “Mr Noseybonk” from the children’s television series of the late 1970’s and early 1980’s “Jigsaw”. It was a program aimed at primary school children. It was quite strange and “Mr Noseybonk” reminded me of a character from “A Clockwork Orange”. It is not that different from the Alex Droog character played by Malcolm McDowell. I don’t know if the intention was to scare children, but it certainly worked. It seemed that this character did inspire horror. “Noseybonk” inspired the character “Mr Chuckleteeth in the X-Files episode “Familiar. It is thought that this was then the inspiration behind the character “Jigsaw” from the horror movie franchise “Saw”. I am certain that the inner workings that created the children’s education tv program “Jigsaw” would never have dreamed of ending up down that Rabbit hole. Then again seemingly innocent children’s stories were often hiding something beneath the surface.

There are many layers to everything it seems.

It brings to my mind one of my favourite ever poems “The Layers” by Stanley Kunitz. By the way it is one of those opening lines I often misquote.

“The Layers” by Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

“Live in the layers, not on the litter.” There is some beautiful wisdom here. There are many layers to explore in this incredible piece written at the end of his long life. I have explored it before. It is the opening though that speaks to me here, the one I often misquote.

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.


We ought never be afraid to let that show.

We all wear masks that cover up aspects of ourselves and or reveal something we are attempting to portray. How often do we let our whole selves be seen? We are all a ball of complexity, paradox and contradictions. To quote good old Walt Whitman “Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. (I am large, I contain multitudes) This is the real you and me perhaps, there in the contradictions and complexities of our humanity. It is what we have in common I suspect. Yet we show our public faces, we wear our masks.

There is nothing new under the sun, including this sermon.

We have always worn masks, ever since the beginning of human society. The masks have depicted the multiple aspects of humanity, the many ‘selves’ that lie within each and every one of us, our multitude, the layers of our lives. In the plays of ancient Greece masks were worn and exchanged by the players to depict each individual’s persona. The word ‘persona” itself is actually derived from per-sonare which meant “to sound through”? It was not only the face of the character that was expressed through the mask, but also the voice was exaggerated too. There is something beautifully powerful in this, it’s a wonderful metaphor for who we are as human beings. In many ways we can be identified as much by our voices as our faces and we can attempt to cover up who we our through our voices too. I know when I find myself I always find my authentic voice.

I was talking with a friend the other day about how much my voice has changed over time, how my speech has altered. I have to some extent lost my accent, not completely I know but to some extent at least. This is no doubt due in part to having to speak publicly and also not living in Yorkshire for nearly 30 years. Now my friend laughed out loud at this as to them I have quite a strong accent, but it is nothing like it used to be. I have not deliberately changed the way I speak but never the less it has happened. It fascinates me how some people seem to pick up accents very easily and yet others hang on to theirs even if they have left their homelands decades before. So much of who we are, our persona is caught up in our voices as well as our facial features. The masks we can wear not only cover our faces, but our voices too. We are no different to the ancient Greeks, there is nothing new under the sun, we are contain our many multitudes.

Masks of course are not only the domain of ancient times either. Many of our modern day heroes wear masks too. In many ways the hero has to wear a mask in order to protect his identity and therefore walk through life anonymously. It seems a hero cannot be a hero twenty four hours a day seven days a week three hundred and sixty five days of the year. The demands and the pressures it seems would be too much. Think about Zoro who has to don his mask in order to fight for his people; think about Batman and Spiderman too who’s greatest fears are to be unmasked. There are numerous other examples too.

Now there is a part of me that just doesn’t like any of this. This idea of hiding who we are or having to be transformed into someone else to become a hero or a completely different personality. There is a loneliness in it that I want to rebel against. Think about it, all those heroes have a loneliness about them. They all have a dark side, they somehow can’t quite connect with everyone else.

As I thought of this those childhood memories came flooding back. It particularly brought one image that has often haunted me, that of the scarecrow, perhaps the epitome of a loneliness in effigy. They are the loneliest of the lonely. I find scarecrows haunting figures. Many towns have scarecrow festivals and I find them all a bit spooky. They bring images of the “Wicker Man” to me.

Now of course usually the scarecrow is depicted as rather lovely semi-human creatures and there was one that I had a deep affection for as a child. That scarecrow was Wurzel Gummage. Like Jigsaw it was first aired in the later 1970’s and early 1980’s. Does anyone remember Wurzel? I loved Wurzel but I know many friends who found him quite scary.

Wurzel like so many other children’s characters desperately wanted to fit in to be a part of life, but never really succeeded. Now while he didn’t wear a mask he did something far more extreme. He would have to painfully remove his head and replace it with another totally different one that completely changed his personality. For poor old Wurzel whatever he did always ended in disaster and he could never be what he tried so hard to be. He was always on the outside looking at the world alone, a scarecrow not a part of human life. He wore a different head for every occasion but that did not help him become what he wanted to be.

How many of us wear masks or put on different heads in our attempts to be accepted? Why do we believe we are not good enough just as we are, exactly as we are in this present moment, warts and all and beauty spots too? Why do we believe we need to act differently around certain people just to fit in. why do we think we need to wear different masks or even heads for different occasions and even change the way that we speak in order to fit in and be accepted? Why can’t accept ourselves and many layers with all our contradictions and complexities.

It never works you know, it only leads to loneliness and emptiness. Why? You may well ask, well because deep down inside we know it’s not who we really are. It means we just stand there as scarecrows staring at the world as it passes us by or we just sit there staring at the world giving our running commentaries and criticism without ever participating.

I believe that authenticity is at the core of the spiritual life. In fact I would say that the purpose of the spiritual life is to truly become real and to let go of the masks that we think allow us fit in and become acceptable to the world around us. It’s not about what we show to the world outside of us but how we live from our hearts and souls. It’s not about showing this stage character that we think the world wants to see but to be ourselves wholly and fully. To be who we truly are and to let it show.

The purpose of the spiritual life is to become who we truly are. It is to remove the masks so that we can truly connect to life and to one another and see each other as we truly are, warts and all and beauty spots too. The spiritual life is about connecting to all that is, all that has been and all that will ever be so that time becomes thick and deep and therefore rich in meaning. In so doing we are able to truly serve our world and the people about us and therefore incarnate God’s love here and now and bring about the commonwealth of love in our very lives.

It’s about removing the masks that shield and separate us and seeing one another face to face and speaking our truth in love.

Let’s truly live in the many layers of our lives, let it truly show, the many multitudes that make up our humanity and in so doing we will encourage others to so also.

We are here to let it show.

Amen

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

Remembering by Heart: Memory: It’s a Mystery to Me

Facebook reminded me of a post from a year agon Tuesday morning. It was during that late spring heatwave. Do you remember last years glorious summer. The message read “Enjoyed choir singing from Alty town hall earlier. I cheered bravo and offered a round of applause when they finished”. Molly and me and been enjoying a walk on that glorious evening. I had one or two worries and singing lifted me beyond them. Rose the choir leader responded to my post. She knew me from attending a few services at Dunham Road. She invited me to join the choir and I did. It has been quite a year. Last Monday night, one day short of that anniversary, we sang at the Bowdon Rooms. It was a wonderful evening. I am so glad I took that walk a year ago. The last year has reawakened a part of my heart and soul that needed reviving. What was even earlier is that the evening before I recounted that story to a member of the choir who asked me what had brought me there.

It was my first concert with choir as I had missed the Christmas one due to a medical procedure I had last year. I was a little nervous about remembering all the words of the songs. In the end I did ok. I had no trouble with the harmonies etc they were lodged in a deeper part of me, they were learnt by heart. The lyrics I probably got about 90% right in the end. Several of us were talking about our various struggles with memory and remembering. I often make up my own lyrics as I sing along to songs, it is the same with hymns too. One of the other basses only has to read the lyrics once and they are stored in his mind. I have noticed though that at times his harmonies are less accurate at times. I have other friends who have similar memories, almost photographic memories. I have one friend who tells me that they have compartments in their mind where they can store things that are important. This utterly baffles me. I am not aware of what I know unless stimulated. It’s stored somewhere in me, but only comes to life when necessary. It seems I am unaware of what I know. As I was talking about this I remembered a history exam from school. I would have been about 14. I got an incredible mark, completely out of line, with my work throughout the year. The reason was that I wrote an essay based on a radio play I had listened to in class. It seems almost every detail had stayed in me. I had learnt it by heart without being aware I was doing so. When I recalled it, it came to life once again. This tells me something about how I take in life and also how I remember. Many people are not like this. The wonder and beauty of diversity is that it is far deeper and broader than any of us realise. People operate in so many different ways. As I spoke of last week while we do not think alike we can love alike. This is to be beautifully celebrated.

The longer I share my life with Molly I am fascinated by how she takes in the world. This of course impacts on how she remembers. How she is with me in the company of others and is fascinating. She understand far more than I give her credit for. Last Sunday being an example as she travelled with me as I led service with three congregations. At the extra service at Rivington she was up and about before hand taking in as much fuss as possible. Then as the service began she got into her bed in the middle of the chapel and went to sleep. Then as the service was ended she knew and got up as I said my words of blessing after the final hymn. How does she know, she just does.

Now of course Molly operates from different primary senses than I do. It is not that humans don’t use them, it is just that other senses have greater prominence. She remembers no doubt in different ways too. Her ears and her nose are clearly prominent.

I was out walking with Molly on Tuesday thinking about memory. I was thinking all the different ways that memory calls us back, comes alive in us. Obviously, smell is significant in a dog, but also in people. I have been transported to times in my life by smell. I remember once being transported to my dad’s butchers shop by a smell in Dunham Massey. I felt like Mr Ben being transported to another time and place by my olfactory nerve. Music has a similar impact too. Music can take me to times and places in my life. Maybe I’m more dog than human. Who knows.

I love the way that memory takes us back it impacts oh so powerfully on the present and can feed the people we are today. There is a deep richness in it, that should not be lost. Yes, of course we should never live in the past, but we cannot nor should we close the door upon it. I find something deeply holy in such memory.

For me memory is more than just what lives within my mind, my head. Some are stored in deeper places. Yes, my mind brings them into being, helps me communicate these experiences, but there seems to be more going on. They change and take shape in the present experiences too, they have a life of their own which is more than the moment they were experienced within. They are more than my own too. My memories are not mine alone. I love what John Donne had to say on this, it speaks to my soul:

"My memory theatre is a theatre of all things as they exist in the soul. I find them all there in the shapes of my longing, the successive shapes that heart's desire has taken in my life. There are the stories I heard and loved as a child listening to my grandfather on our front porch on summer evenings, and there are those I learned afterwards, reading by myself. There are the songs I heard my mother play on the piano and those I learned to play myself, improvising and learning to read music. And there are the drawings I saw my father make and those I learned to make myself with pencil and ink and watercolor."

Now of course as we share our memories as we recall events and paint pictures and telling stories they take shape and meaning. I wonder sometimes when I tell my stories if I am actually truly remembering the event or just telling the story I told last time. Certainly I don’t see pictures like my brother or some friends would, but I do feel the memory. I re-feel what happened, it comes alive in me, but I don’t clearly see a picture. It’s why in classroom settings images and or grafts can make things more confusing for me, rather than being helpful. That said for others these things are vital. People can be oh so different.

Memory is a mysterious thing and how we remember just as much. Some folk seem to suggest that they have some level of control over this. That is not me, like so much in life it is an ungovernable beast. My memories have formed and reformed over the years and if I have learnt anything from life how I remember says as much about the state of my heart in this current time as space as what actually happened. Gabriel Garcia Marquez put this so beautifully when immortalising the memory of his own life. These memories, these stories we share about ourselves tend to be how we wish to seen in this life, it shapes our sense of self. The truth is though that our lives are largely shaped by the small unremembered moments of life, that which makes up the majority of our life experiences. The stuff that is not stimulated by the senses of the present moment. This is true also for collective memory and amnesia, which is powerfully influenced by current experiences.

Memory is a mysterious thing. It is incredible how we can remember with absolute clarity events from early childhood, while the whole of the previous week is not there. I was asked by a friend the other day, what I had been up to recently. I couldn’t recall anything in the moment that they asked and yet as time went by and the conversation developed I shared with them lots of things I had been up to and how I felt in the moment. It took the stimulation of conversation to being the memory to life. The truth is that most of the time there is nothing going on in my mind. This something I chuckle at whenever I look at Facebook, as this is the question it asks. I sometimes sing back to it “There’s absolutely nothing on my mind”. Until it asks the question, there truly isn’t.

A memory came back to me the other day as I shared meditation. It comes every so often as I sit with others in silence. It is a feeing of well-being that takes me back to primary school. I would probably be about 8 or 9 years old. A memory of being sat on the floor with my class mates listening to the teacher reading the end of day story. Stories that have stayed with me throughout my life, as have some of the songs we sang. It evokes a lovely warm feeling. I don’t see many images, only a very vague one of the room. I cannot picture the room or the children, but I know we are sitting on the floor, some lying and falling asleep. What is alive in my memory is how I felt, this lovely sense of well-being.

Memory is a mystery to me. It fascinates me how these memories take shape and form and often reshape as time goes by; it amazes me how these memories seemingly re-incarnate as time goes by. In many ways it is memory that brings the moments I am experiencing to life, as it did again the other day.

Now despite this powerful memory if you asked what I was doing last week I wouldn’t be able to immediately recall it. It would come as we engage, but I couldn’t find where it was stored within me, unlike some of my friends I cannot remember how many things I have forgotten this week.

Now of course we all forget things and even more as we get older. And then there is Dementia and its cruellest form Alzheimer’s Disease which attacks the cortex of the brain forming bundles of tangled plaque that inhibit conversation between the neurons; as it takes away a persons identity and history as aspects of their humanity drift away. The longer we live the more likely we are to become one of its victims.

Now while the Alzheimer’s suffer forgets, those who loved them never let them go. Those who shared memories with them hold their love, those feelings are felt in that deeper place that cannot be destroyed time. Love is eternal, it is immortal.

For as Isaiah (49 vv 15-16) said, in the earlier reading:

15 Can a woman forget her nursing child,
or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.

16 See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;
your walls are continually before me.

These words awoke in me the other day at the concert as we said farewell to our choir leader Rose as she goes on maternity leave. The concert was a great send off for her and will stay deep in her memory. She will of course return and we have other leaders who will keep us in order. I was thinking how her life will change forever as she begins her journey of motherhood. How her past memories and their meaning will change and how she experiences life will never be quite the same again. As I thought of my own life and looked at my lifeline on the palm of my hand I felt connected to all those who have touched my life who are part of my lifeline and I thought of those whose lifeline I am and have been a part of. It is an ever widening circle. Such feelings are surely Divine.

Memory is an utter mystery to me, as is much of life. The diversity of all creation is so beautiful, including every single beautiful person. Something I have been feeling more deeply this week. I am so grateful to be a part of this incredible mystery that is life itself,; that I get to share it with the people I do; that I get to experience the sensations of these memories coming to life in my body and spirit, enhancing my experience of life today.

I am grateful to have experienced this the most amazing trip that anyone could wish to be on. Thank you for being a part of it.

I’m going to end with a little bit of Mary Oliver

“When Did It Happen?” by Mary Oliver

When did it happen?
“It was a long time ago.”

Where did it happen?
“It was far away.”

No, tell. Where did it happen?
“In my heart.”

What is your heart doing now?
“Remembering. Remembering!”

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