Let it Be a Dance: The Movement of Faith

September is here, we have moved through the summer and are heading towards the autumn of the year. We have moved through quite a summer, like no other. I wonder how it has been for you. When harvest comes what fruits will you have to share. The tradition in many American Unitarian Universalist congregations is that during the first service after their summer recess they would bring water and share their water in a communal container. The water symbolises where they have been and what they have done during the summer.The summer has reminded me how precious water is, how precious everything is. We all move through life in so many ways, each bearing its fruits and own consequences. Water of course moves through everything and moving water always has its way, it always finds a way. I wonder what things we have moved through this summer and what we will move through during the days ahead.

For many of us music is about movement. A piece of music is often called a movement. To create music air moves and vibrates. Music is never still, as creativity is never still. Nothing is ever truly still. Even when we sit still, we are a part of life that is all about movement. Just because our sense cannot pick up the movement, it does not mean it is not happening. Like a fish swims in water that is constantly moving, thus we move through life that is never quite the same. Life is flux. To slightly misquote Heraclitus, no one steps in the same river twice, because the river is not the same and neither is the person who steps into it.

I was thinking of music the other day. There are basically two forms of popular music, obviously there are variations on themes, but throughout human history there has always been two types of music. There is song, which is essentially story telling music and then there is music that is created to enable people to dance, dance music. Yes of course some music is for both, a right song and dance. I have always preferred song. This is no doubt obvious, as I am singer, I am not much of dancer.

Dance and movement in general is not my forte. I am a singer, not a dancer.

Having said that I do love to a go a wandering, singing along at the same time. I also, just for a bit of fun, enjoy gambolling from time to time. A friend sent me something about gambolling, not to be confused with gambling the other day and I gave it a go. For those that don’t know gambolling is a form of movement where you can run, jump or skip around in a playful kind of way, think of a lamb or goat perhaps. Maybe this is where acting the goat comes from. I did not gambol gracefully, but I did have a lot of fun. It was suggested to me as I was dealing with some pretty stressful stuff at the time. It had such an effect that I sat down in the park with Molly and wrote a song, recorded and shared it with friends, as a way of spreading a little joy. It is a play on the old classic song “The Happy Wanderer”, it is called “The Happy Gamboler”. Would you like to hear it? (You can hear it in the video devotion at the bottom of this post)

"The Happy Gamboller"

Chorus:
Gambolli, Gambolla,
Gambolli,
Gambolla-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Gombolli, Gambolla.
A Dude must always abide.

I love to go gambolling,
With Molly by my side,
We skip and dance and sing our songs,
A Dude must always Abide.

Chorus:
Gambolli, Gambolla,
Gambolli,
Gambolla--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Gomolli, Gambolla.
A Dude must always abide.

I love to gambolling
And dance under the sun.
So joyously folk call to me,
"Come! Join my happy song!"

Chorus:
Gambolli, Gambolla,
Gambolli,
Gambolla--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Gomolli, Gambolla.
A Dude must always abide.

I wave and smile at all I meet,
And they smile and wave back to me,
And blackbirds call so loud and sweet
From ev'ry green wood tree.

Chorus:
Gambolli, Gambolla,
Gambolli,
Gambolla--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Gomolli, Gambolla.
A Dude must always abide.


High overhead, the skylarks wing,
They never rest at home
But just like me, they love to sing,
Until all this world shall gambole.

Chorus:
Gambolli, Gambolla,
Gambolli,
Gambolla--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Gomolli, Gambolla.
A Dude must always abide.

Oh, may I go a gamboling
Until the day I die!
Oh, may I always laugh and sing,
Beneath God's clear blue sky!

Chorus:
Gambolli, Gambolla,
Gambolli,
Gambolla--ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Gomolli, Gambolla.
A Dude must always abide.

(Additional note the line "A Dude must always abide, is a homage to a favourite film "The Big Lebowski)  

It cheered a lot of folk up, it concerned a few others. It got the funny bones moving though. The next morning Keiron in café nero was feeling a bit blue, so I sang it to him and it cheered him up too. Later that day Natasha from the MDA sent we a video of some hilarious movement that folk were trying, which I gave a go at too. It got so much laughter and joy moving through folk who were struggling along with one or two things, although it was in itself a bit of a struggle in the intense heat.

We are moving creatures. We move in so many interesting ways, we are moving, even when we are stood still. I have spent the summer observing all kinds of movement. There were many types of movement based sessions at this years summer school. All kinds of flow and sacred dance and so much laughter. I had a go at some line dancing, which was slightly chaotic, but fun. I also had a go at ecstatic dance, which was pretty out there as well. In fact at one moment Molly and myself were dancing together, she on her hind legs while we danced away. Now while dancing doesn’t come naturally to me it is fun to join in, in my own way. Makes you grateful for this grace, even if I don’t myself move so gracefully. Like water though we human beings are made for movement, we are not meant to be still. Movement has a way to bring stillness to the mind and soul.

Dance and movement has always been a sacred thing.

Let it be a dance with do, may I have this dance with you, through the good times and the bad times too, let it be a dance.

Dancing and movement are sacred things, part of the sacredness of being alive. The God of my limited understanding is alive in this life or not at all. I need to know God through my bodily being, or not at all. Sacred the body, God has created, temple of spirit that grows deep inside.

Friedrich Nietzche said “I would believe only in a God that knows how to dance”

Is there anything more divine that being fully alive and yet too often in sacred circles the body is decried. If there are such things as angels I am sure that they sing and dance at being alive, in their angelic way and not just on the head of a pin. This brings to mind the wonder poem “Questions about angels” by Billy Collins

“Questions about angels” by Billy Collins

Of all the questions you might want to ask
about angels, the only one you ever hear
is how many can dance on the head of a pin.

No curiosity about how they pass the eternal time
besides circling the Throne chanting in Latin
or delivering a crust of bread to a hermit on earth
or guiding a boy and girl across a rickety wooden bridge.

Do they fly through God's body and come out singing?
Do they swing like children from the hinges
of the spirit world saying their names backwards and forwards?
Do they sit alone in little gardens changing colors?

What about their sleeping habits, the fabric of their robes,
their diet of unfiltered divine light?
What goes on inside their luminous heads? Is there a wall
these tall presences can look over and see hell?

If an angel fell off a cloud, would he leave a hole
in a river and would the hole float along endlessly
filled with the silent letters of every angelic word?

If an angel delivered the mail, would he arrive
in a blinding rush of wings or would he just assume
the appearance of the regular mailman and
whistle up the driveway reading the postcards?

No, the medieval theologians control the court.
The only question you ever hear is about
the little dance floor on the head of a pin
where halos are meant to converge and drift invisibly.

It is designed to make us think in millions,
billions, to make us run out of numbers and collapse
into infinity, but perhaps the answer is simply one:
one female angel dancing alone in her stocking feet,
a small jazz combo working in the background.

She sways like a branch in the wind, her beautiful
eyes closed, and the tall thin bassist leans over
to glance at his watch because she has been dancing
forever, and now it is very late, even for musicians.

The spirit lives to set us free, it is ever moving, as is all life, as are we.

In “Dance – The Sacred Art: The Joy of Movement as a Spiritual Practice” Cynthia Winton Henry wrote:

"At the beginning of nearly every culture, dance arose at the foundation of collective spiritual life. Just as inconceivable as separating out deities and goddesses from everyday activities, dancing was intrinsic to the religiosity of indigenous groups. It could not be extricated. It was manna, daily bread. More than mere expression, dancing served as the primary means of knowing and creating the world. It carried technologies of healing, entertainment, and most definitely of praying.”

You see movement and dance right there at the heart of the Hebrew Scriptures. In the beginning God did not merely breathe life into being but moved through it too. The Psalms were sung with movement and dance. Isaiah declared, 'You shall go out with joy and be led forth in peace: The mountains and the hills shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field clap their hands' (Isaiah 55:12). The Divine danced in and through us bringing the people out beyond themselves.

Think of circle dancing, the Hebrew word for festival being “Haga” meaning to move in a circle, it is there at the heart of festival and ceremonies. Just because dance isn’t written down in holy scripture it does not mean that the religious life was some solitary solemn thing, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice is there at the heart. In “The Sermon on the Plain” in Lukes Gospel Ch 6 v 23 Jesus instructs those who listen “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets"

Dance is at the heart of Taoism, the origins of the Tao. When the ancients attempted to understand the flow of the Tao, they danced; when they tried to put it into practice, they danced.

Dance and movement is at the heart of the ancient traditions, they danced to bring about rain. High priests danced in the patterns of the stars constellations, to commune with the Gods. Yoga is in flow. Dance and movement is in everything. When we think of spiritual practice we think it is about being still and silent, but it really isn’t. it is about movement and life, dance and song, as life was moved and not just breathed into being. We come to life, stillness and silence is the end of life, but the spirit, well I reckon that moves on.

To dance it to be like water as Bruce Lee said. Water moves its way into life, it always finds away and it is never quite the same. The river is not the same and neither are we as we move into and through it.

Life is movement, it is forever changing, nothing stays the same. So, we may as well dance with it. Why should we resist, we ought to go with the flow and dance in the dance of life. Why not join together as part of the dance of life. Dance together.

In joining in the dance we are being faithful to life, to the spirit in it all. In so doing we play our part in creating the universal web of life, we play our part fully in the universal process and in so doing encourage others to come and join in the dance too.

So will you come and dance with me…Let it be a dance we do, may I have this dance with you, through the good times and the bad times too, let it be a dance…

I’m going to end with a bit of Mary Oliver. A poem titled Prayer”

“Prayer” by Mary Oliver

May I never not be frisky,
May I never not be risque.

May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
and give them to the ocean,

leap in the froth of the waves,
still loving movement,

still ready, beyond all else,
to dance for the world.

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

The Odyssey: Xenia and the Art of Hospitality

In the last piece we explored Homer’s “The Odyssey” looking specifically at Odysseus’ journey home, his “Nostos”. Today I am exploring another central theme of the epic poem, this being “Xenia” or “Philoxenia”. What in Christopher Nolan’s recent blockbuster film based on “The Odyssey” is referred to as “Zeus’ Law”. “Xenia” has been translated to mean “guest friendship” or “Love of a stranger”.

We will explore Xenia’s parallels with other traditions, an example being hospitality in the Abrahamic ones. We will also explore ways to be both a good host and a good guest. Ways in which we may bring the spirit of Xenia alive in our current time and place.

In ancient Greece the concept of “Xenia” or “guest friendship” was something that a “virtuous person” would be expected to cultivate. It was developed from the ancient’s belief that gods visited humans and thus any guest may well be a god in disguise. One example found in “The Odyssey” is there right at the beginning of the epic, when Athena visits Odysseus’s son, Telemachus. Athena first appeared as Mentes, a family friend, and later as Mentor to encourage the young prince to search for his missing father. When Odysseus finally returns to Ithaca, Athena repeatedly visits him, altering his appearance into an old beggar so he can safely plan his revenge against the arrogant suitors. Another example would be Hermes being sent by Zeus to visit the nymph Calypso on her island to command her to release Odysseus, and later visits Odysseus himself to warn him about the witch.

You can see Xenia thread through “The Odyssey”. Virtually every encounter manifest as a test of it. There good and bad examples of being both a good host and guest. Examples of good hosts would be Nestor, Menelaus, the Phaeacians, as well as the swineherd Eumaeus. They welcome strangers with food, shelter, and gifts before they ask who they are. Their generosity reflects both good character and respect for Zeus Xenios, the protector of guests.

Now bad hosts and bad guests face consequences. The Cyclops Polyphemus rejects Xenia by imprisoning and eating his visitors, while the “Suitors” in Odysseus' palace abuse his hospitality by consuming his food, disrespecting his household, and plotting against his son.

The “Suitors” repeated violations of Xenia ultimately lead to their downfall when Odysseus returns and reclaims his home. Throughout the epic, Homer presents hospitality not as simple politeness, but as one of the foundations of a just and civilized society. It is painting an ideal by which a virtuous person ought to live. The obligation though is not just for the host, but also the guest, the visitor have their obligations too. In “The Odyssey” Xenia acts as the moral bedrock and a crucial testing ground for civilization. Xenia is understood as a sacred duty that holds civilization together.

King Alcinous and Queen Arete (The Phaeacians), portray the Xenia ideal. They welcome Odysseus when he washes ashore broken and nameless, feeding him, bathing him, and offering safe passage home before ever asking his identity. They embody the purest form of spiritual grace and civilized duty. Another example would be Nestor and Peisistratos. Odysseus son Telemachus visits Pylos, where Nestor’s son immediately offers a seat at the feast and ritual hospitality, acting as a mentoring ritual for Telemachus to learn the noble codes of the Greek world. These are the embodiment of perfect examples of Xenia being offered by the host.

Now a classic example of Xenia not being followed would be that of Polyphemus the Cyclops. The “Mythologist Joseph Campbell saw the Cyclops as the ultimate spiritual trap of raw, lawless force and ego. Polyphemus rejects the gods and the sacred laws of Xenia by immediately asking who Odysseus is in a hostile manner and instead of offering a guest-gift, he traps and eats the men. Not what you want from a host.

An example of guests not fulfilling their Xenia obligation would be the suitors in Ithaka. They occupy Odysseus’s home, consume his livestock and abuse his home. Again as Joseph Campbell highlighted “the suitors” represent an archetypal social decay and "xenia gone bad" that demands a violent reckoning.

You can find parallels to Xenia within many of the great religious traditions. Here is an example from Christianity, found in the book of Hebrews chapter 13 v2. 2Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Who is showing hospitality to these strangers in our very midst?”

Showing hospitality and caring for the vulnerable in society is a key aspect of the Judeo - Christian and Islamic traditions. You will find it deeply rooted in the Abrahamic faiths and virtually every other world religion too. Hospitality is an essential spiritual practice. It begins with an open heart and a generosity of spirit. It’s about recognising the good in life and in people, especially those in need. It’s about recognising ourselves in those very same people. It’s about being open and welcoming to all, wherever they have been, wherever they are going and wherever they find themselves now. Tibetan Buddhist monks great the strangers visiting their temples with “Welcome, friend, from what noble spiritual tradition do you come.” The Christian monastic tradition has a long held practise of taking in strangers and offering them sanctuary as if they were Christ, inspired by those very words from Hebrews. In so doing they are following the example of Jesus who mingled with all people, there was no one left outside the city gate, no untouchables. Hospitality to me seems to be the whole concept of “Kin-dom of Love” right here right now.

Sadly, our age has become characterised by distrust, there is a fear of the strange and the stranger. Hospitality is an antidote to this, to quote Joan Chittister “Hospitality is the way we come out of ourselves. It is the first step toward dismantling the barriers of the world. Hospitality is the way we turn a prejudiced world around one heart at a time.” The importance of welcoming the stranger is at the root of all the great faith traditions.

In ancient Greece the concept of “Xenia” or “guest friendship” was cultivated. Xenia came out of the ancients belief that gods visited humans and the fear that a guest may well be a god in disguise. You find similar stories in Middle-Eastern cultures also. One key story from Genesis is to key to the Abrahamic traditions. This story of Abraham’s guests has a moral to teach us all. The guests are revealed to be angels; in fact it is implied strongly that one may well be God himself. They tell the childless and aged Abraham and Sarah that they will have a son. They given the ultimate gift as a reward for showing hospitality to strangers in their land.

Being a gracious host is a primary requirement of Islam. The Qur’an 4. 36-37 reads:

“Be kind to parents.and near kins man, and to orphans, and to the needy, and to the neighbour who is of kin, and to the neighbour who is a stranger, and to the companion at your side, and to the traveller.”

Another classic example of duty to take care of the stranger is the parable of the “Good Samaritan” You may well recall that a Jewish man lay on the side of the road beaten bloody and dying. As he lay there a Jewish priest and an official of the temple both past him by and ignored him. Then a Samaritan came by, a despised enemy of the Israelites, and he looked after the man and paid for his shelter at a local inn. He welcomed the stranger. To me this is a classic example of Xenia in the Christian tradition.

Many of the great traditions have brought witnesses of light to humanity and they have often shone in the darkest of times. Many of the myths and folk tales talk of the importance of offering hospitality to the stranger. If we welcome the stranger without hope or reward, we will be rewarded way beyond our wildest dreams. This holds true, in my belief, whether or not they have supernatural powers. If we welcome the stranger, we will reap untold rewards. There is nothing new here, this is at the heart of “Xenia”, portrayed in the Odyssey.

It is not just about being a welcoming host though. To practice Xenia is also about being a good guest. At the heart of being a good guest is humility, think of Odysseys when he washes ashore at the Phaeacians. He accepts the help on offer and tells his story, he offers himself he recognises their interconnectedness, it is a grace filled encounter. In so doing he is fulfilling his Xenia, he is being a gracious guest.

It reminds me of the following contemporary piece “The Fine Art of the Good Guest” by Jeffrey Lockwood. It illustrates the importance of being a good guest and gratefully receiving what is on offer. Jeffrey Lockwood is suggesting that we should listen to what the host has to offer by graciously accepting his food or activities, however peculiar they may seem to us. This is Xenia and a wonderful example of it.

Here is Jeffrey’s offering.

“The Fine Art of the Good Guest” by Jeffrey Lockwood

The most important thing that I’ve learned in travelling to more than twenty countries is the art of being a guest. And I’m a particularly fine visitor at the supper table. I’ve consumed live fish in Inner Mongolia, not-quite-coagulated blood sausage on the Tibetan plateau, shredded pig’s ear in China, grilled lamb fat in Uzbekistan, horse steaks in Kazakhstan, vodka made from fermented mare’s milk in Siberia, vegemite in Australia, goat in Brazil, and snails in France. I don’t have an iron stomach, by any means, but I do have the will to be a virtuous visitor.

We are all visitors—even when we are home. Our time in any relationship or place is ultimately limited. We are passing through; nobody stays forever. How might we act if we consider ourselves guests in the lives of friends and family? Being a good guest is rather simple in principle but occasionally challenging in practice.

One begins by demanding nothing more than the bare elements of life and dignity, which every host is more than delighted to exceed. The good guest then simply allows the other person to be a good host—to share his gifts, to play her music, to tell his stories, to show her places, and to serve his foods. Finally, a guest should cultivate and express genuine gratitude. It need not be effusive or exorbitant, only sincere.

We might also think of ourselves as uninvited, but not unwelcome, guests of the planet. And I think the rules for being a good guest of the world are just the same: Ask little, accept what is offered, and give thanks.

I recently visited my mum and enjoyed some “Traditional Fish Chips”, cooked in “Beef Dripping”. I was chatting with a friend who is originally from Oxford and now lives in central Manchester. He told me about a “traditional fish chip shop found on Cross Street in the city. He mentioned sayings on the wall, one being a famous quotation by Milton Friedman stating, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch”. Suggesting there is a price to pay for everything. Personally, I have never found this to be true. I have received generosity and countless free meals throughout my life. I may not have acknowledged it at the time, but looking back so much has been given to me without any expectation of it being returned. I have of course given to others, even if it just my time throughout my life. The giving is not direct, paid back to those who gave to me, but indirect, it is for those in need. This to me is very much the spirit of Xenia.

Poet Philosopher David Whyte has spoken extensively of the abundance of free meals he has been given throughout his life. He says his life has been sustained by unexpected generosity, vulnerability, and the invisible help of strangers at crucial crossroads.

One powerfully and life changing example he often speaks of is when he survived a near fatal bout of dysentery in the Himalayas. He stumbled half dead into the home of Tibetan family he did not know. They took him in and nursed him with local provisions. They asked nothing in return. This was a life changing moment for Whyte, his life was never the same again and led to him feeding and nourishing the world with language and words. He moved from being a good guest to becoming a good host, in so doing he is fulfilling his Xenia.

This is exemplified in his poem “Loaves and Fishes”

“Loaves and Fishes” by David Whyte

This is not
the age of information.

This is not
the age of information.

Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.

This is the time of loaves
and fishes.

People are hungry,
and one good word is bread
for a thousand

Whyte’s philosophy suggests that our lives are not an isolated struggle, but a continuous, primal exchange where "one good word" or a shared meal acts as deep nourishment for the hungry. He views these gifts as reminders that we are fundamentally interconnected and that receiving grace gracefully is part of the conversational nature of life. To me this seems like a modern day embodiment of “Xenia”

“Xenia” begins by recognising that each encounter has divine potential within it. That we need to greet one another in such a way. This mutual reverence is portrayed beautifully in the following story, “The Strangers Gift”.

“The Strangers Gift”

There was once a village that had fallen on very hard times. The villages had once been very happy, and their community had been famous for its hospitality and friendliness, and the warmth with which it welcomed strangers.

But something had gone wrong in the village. People had begun to bicker with one another. Quarrels broke out for no apparent reason. Rivalry sprang up where once there had been friendship and trust. The chief of the village was very sad about this. He knew that the people would never be happy like this, but he could do nothing to restore the old times of harmony and peace. Strangers no longer wanted to visit the village. The people stopped caring for it. The village was falling into ruin.

But it happened that one day a stranger came by. He approached the village like one with a mission, as though he already knew what he would find there. And very soon, he met the village chief. He recognised the sad expression in his eyes, and the two were soon engaged in a serious conversation.

The village chief told the stranger about his feelings of despair, and his fears that soon the village would disintergarate. The stranger told the village chief that he might know a way to redeem the lost village, and restore it to a real community again.

“Tell me the secret,” The village chief begged the stranger.

“The secret is very simple,” the stranger said, by way of reply.

“The fact is, one of the villagers is actually the Messiah”

The village chief could hardly believe what he was hearing, yet the stranger had an air of authority about him that was irrefutable.

The stranger left, but the village chief couldn’t resist telling his closest friend what the stranger had told him. Soon the rumour ran through the village like wildfire.

“One of us is the Messiah! Can you believe it, somewhere, hidden among our number, the messiah is living.!”

Now deep down, the villagers were a godly folk who wanted things to be right in their community. The thought that the Messiah himself might be living among them, incognito, made them see things very differently. Could it be the baker? They wondered. Or the postman? Or the old lady who breeds chickens and sells eggs? Perhaps its old granny Riley, whom the children were in the habit of taunting because of her scarred old face. The speculation went on and on.

But the strange thing was that, after the stranger’s visit, things were never the same again. People began to treat each other with reverence. They lived like people who had a common purpose, and who were seeking for something very precious together, never quite knowing whether the treasure was actually right in front of them.

Before long, visitors began to come to the village, just to be part of the happy, holy atmosphere that prevailed there. The stranger never came back. He didn’t need to.

The stranger brought the greatest gift that the people of the village could have wished for, he taught them how to learn to revere one another. That the divine was in some sense in all of them and that if they cared and nurtured one another, as it did. Now of course he tricked them into this in some sense, but would they have listened if he’s just told them to do this?

But then isn’t that how the great stories work. They tell us one thing which often leads to something far more wonderful than could ever have imagined. Something that is found throughout “The Odyssey”.

“The Odyssey” is an ancient tale. It may seem far away and far fetched, but there at the heart is a universal message teaching how we should be with another. That we ought o treat each other as if we were Divine, with love honour and respect, to welcome the stranger as a friend, we just don’t yet know.

May we see in the face of our neighbour, who we do not know, the divine light that is in all things. May we both give and receive Xenia in all that we feel, all that we think, all that we say and all that we do.

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

The Odyssey: A Journey of Nostalgia

Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey”, is this summer’s blockbuster movie. Have you seen it. It is an ancient tale that has been told many times. It is a story told in poetic form and certainly not easy to recreate in any media, least of all the cinema. Even the written form we have translated today is probably not as it was originally told, as it was not written down in the time. Much like so much of these ancient tales, including the books of the Bible.


Nolan’s film has received rave reviews, but also criticism. Some have said that it is not historically accurate, although it is closer to the text than other adaptations and certainly some other so called historical tales. I will explore some of the themes here and will continue to explore what might be the central theme in the next video devotion, what is sometimes called “Zeus’ Law” or the concept of “Xenia” or “Philoxenia”. This is translated as “guest friendship” or “love of a stranger” and perhaps other spiritual themes.

“The Odyssey” is not history, it is mythology. It is taking us on a journey to reveal universal truth. A long and arduous journey, that for Odysseus took 10 years to finally get home. The journey from Troy, that is now in what is Northern Turkey, to the Island of Ithaka west of Northern Greece, should have taken only a few weeks. This journey like all journey’s was not a straight line and it is littered with mistakes and hopefully lessons. It was Odysseus pride in defeating the cyclops, that led to him being cursed by Poseidon, which caused many of his troubles. He had left Troy high on victory, returning a hero, full of Pride and Hubris. The clever hero. This was not the man who finally reached Ithaka 10 years later having lost all his men and lost everything, well except for this vision of home.

“The Odyssey” reminds me somewhat of Moses and the Israelites journeying towards the Promised Land, a journey that took 40 years (Meaning a lifetime), should have taken a matter of months. Now this was not a journey home, but for a new home. Odysseus just wanted to get home, much like the character played by Michael Douglas in “Falling Down”, or Steve Martin in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles”. Like so many other tales, ancient and modern. The Odyssey is the archetype for most of the stories told. It might be the original “Heroes Journey” depicted by Joseph Campbell.

“The Odyssey” is a tale told in poetic form. Here is a wonderful poem inspired by it, depicting the journey home. It offers a meaning at the heart of the ancient journey. One that may not be about the final goal, the ends that draw us out. Instead it is about the means by which we journey. It is an allegory of the beautiful journey.

“Ithaka”, by C. P. Cafavy

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn’t have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

“The Odyssey” is an archetype for the human journey, the call to adventure. Other examples might be Pilgrims Progress, Gulliver’s Travels, The Wizard of Oz, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Lord of the Rings the list goes on and on. Humanity’s canon is littered with folk tales and myths which teach us about this call to adventure, about the potential for both beauty and horror that is life.

Joseph Campbell spent years exploring these myths and stories believing that they possessed universal qualities that could help us understand how so often life calls us out to adventure, often at the least expected of moments.

Campbell identified four distinct stages of the journey. The first stage he named as “The Call to Adventure”. This he claimed is caused by discontent, which draws us out of the comfort of our lives to risk something new. For Odysseus it was the call for home after 10 years at war with Troy. The second he described as an initiation, where ordeals are faced that test someone’s mental and physical skills, you see Odysseus’ great skill and wit overcoming troubles and then his arrogance and hubris creating his troubles. The third stage is the time of revelation the discovery of truth and treasure. The truth for Odysseus is that he is humbled by his return home, he is stripped of his vainglory and has to rely on hospitality, he returns an old beggar man. The final stage is the return to one’s community, with wisdom gained and with treasure to share. This is Odysseus return home, back with family a different man, with stories to share. Here he fulfils his Nostos.

On our journeys through life there will be many obstacles that we meet along the way. No one’s life is a perfect smooth ride and I do not for one minute believe that it is meant to be this way. Life throws many obstacles at us that can blow us of course. The key is not to allow these troubles to rule or lives and to maintain the faith in life itself, that we will be able find the courage to come through the storms. There is also another key too, don’t carry your own monsters with you, just deal with what is there in front of you. I think one of lessons of “The Odyssey” is that most of the troubles were self created. Yes some were created by the God’s, but not all and even those were in response to Odysseus mistakes. In fact Odysseus was general favoured by the God’s, it is only Poseidon who turned against him, in his rage for blinding his son, the Cyclops Polyphemus. That said despite these very troubles what we have is the beautiful journey of life. As the end of the poem Ithaca reminds us...

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithaca means.

No one knows what the future holds it truly is unwritten, but we need not fear it. We do not have seers like Odysseus met on his journey. Such as the blind prophet of Thebes who Odysseus meets in Hades (The Underworld). Tiresias tells Odysseus how to return home, warns about dangers and predicts his peaceful death in old age. We don’t get that. If I had known what was coming in the last couple of weeks I may well have buried my head, but I have not. I have journeyed on with the help of beautiful friends.

Here’s another poem based on the hero of “The Odyssey”, by Tom Leonard, titled “Odysseus”

“Odysseus” by Tom Leonard

it took me so long to get back to who I am
why was I away so long why was the journey so tortuous
all those false masks against a backdrop narrative to do with authenticity

but now arriving back there is still much debris to clear
the clearer to see the point from which I started

that from which I set out confused in sundry identities at war with themselves
now to find calm on that setting-out point as the final destination

The call to return, especially to return home is a powerful one. This call though is not just about returning to a place, it is also about time; about returning to a time in life when everything was simpler and safer. I’m sure that this was Dorothy’s call in “The Wizard of Oz”.

This is the call of nostalgia. To return to the place of safety the place of paradise, where we are cared for and looked after. Nostalgia though is often blind and perhaps senseless. It can also be painful. Things are never quite as we remember them. Nostalgia is rooted in the Greek word “Nostos”, which is the central call of “The Odyssey”, this arduous journey by sea, full of adventure and trials and tribulations. “Nostos” is also Penelope’s yearning too, despite her never leaving the island.

Nostalgia is one of the central themes of “The Odyssey”. The problem is that things are never quite what we thought they were. Nostalgia in its original understanding meant “severe homesickness considered as a disease” from the German heimweh (home+woe) homesickness. It is rooted in the ancient Greek words “algos” meaning pain, Grief, distress and “nostos” meaning homecoming. Nostalgia is a painful homecoming. The call to return home is powerful and, at times, painful. It can cause a deep yearning ache in our hearts and souls. Isn’t this the call of Odysseus, through all his trials and tribulations.

The return home is not without pain. Sometimes you might be rejected on the first return. Think of Jack and his beans in the story “Jack and the Beanstalk.” Think of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel returning home and being rejected and almost mocked. As he said to his disciples ‘Prophets are not without honour, except in their home town, and among their own kin, and in their own house.’

Sometimes we might not be recognised when we return home, how painful can that be. We can feel like a stranger in our own land. Odysseus is not recognised on his return. He looks like a beggar stripped of all his vainglory. Only his old dying dog Argos recognises him, dropping his ears and wagging his tail. Odysseus weeps, but cannot go to his dog or his identity will be revealed. Argos has been neglected and left on a dirt heap. This powerfully symbolises the pain and neglect of Ithaka since Odysseus left. It is a heartbreaking moment. Argos his old loyal dog dies as Odysseus arrives home, safe in the knowledge of his return. This might be the most beautifully pure moment in the whole mythos. Maybe Argos is the real hero of the Odyssey.

Here is another poem inspired by “The Odyssey” Note that Ulysees mentioned in tin it is the Roman name for Odysseus.

"The Art of Poetry" By Jorge Luís Borges

To look at the river made of time and water
and remember that time is another river,
to know that we lose ourselves like the river
and that faces go by like the water.

To feel that wakefulness is another sleep
that dreams it is not dreaming and that the death
that our flesh fears is that death
every night that is called sleep.

To see in the day or in the year a symbol
of the days of mankind and of his years,
to change the outrage of the years
into a music, a rumor, and a symbol,

to see in death sleep, in sunset
a sad gold, such is the poetry
that is immortal and poor. Poetry
returns like dawn and sunset.

Sometimes in the evening a face
looks at us from the bottom of a mirror;
art should be like that mirror
that reveals our own face to us.

They tell that Ulysses, tired of wonders,
wept with love at the sight of his Ithaca,
green and humble. Art is that Ithaca
of green eternity, not of wonders.

It is also like the endless river
that passes and remains and is the mirror of one same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and is another, like the endless river.

In the “Art of poetry” Jorge Borges, like Joseph Campbell, recognised a common theme in all the great stories. In this poem he explores some of the great ancient Greek stories. One being Ulysses (which is the Latin translation of Odysseus) and his painful return to Ithaca. He also talks of the philosopher Heraclitus who suggested that we can never return to the same river. This is because water continual flows on and on and the water we step into is never quite the same, but also because we who stand in the river are not the same person either, life will have changed us too. Like the river our lives, go on and on, ever changing. The lesson is that it is not about yearning to return to some mythical ideal, but to fully experience the adventure, the beautiful journey as the poem by Constantine Cavafy, “Ithaca” suggests. This is the lesson of Homer’s Odyssey and perhaps all the great stories. The treasure is the journey itself.

Life is a journey and a beautiful one at that. One in which we are constantly turning and returning again and again and again. It is not always an easy one and one where there will be troubles and difficulties. There will be times when we will not be recognised and may not even recognise ourselves; there will be times when we will feel completely lost and won’t know where to turn for sanctuary. The key is to journey on and in the end we return from where we came. We though are not the same and neither is the place or anyone else.

Odysseus returned home a changed man. Humbled by the journey. Stripped down and older. He and Penelope were eventually reunited, along with his now adult son Telemachus. Odysseus this fulfilled his Nostos. The story, well that goes on, as our lives go on, for the journey is never ending.

I’m going to end this devotion, although there will be more on the Odyssey next time, with one final poem by the wonderful Mary Oliver. A poem titled “The Journey”

“The Journey”, by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

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"